


In the Advancement of Learning

by Armengard



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: And Pack a Lunch, Bad Flirting, Buckle up kids, Eventual Smut, F/F, Professors, Shenanigans, The Lost Legacy AU, Uncharted: The Lost Legacy - Freeform, University, feels trip, security guards - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armengard/pseuds/Armengard
Summary: Uncharted: The Lost Legacy AUMost days, Nadine Ross enjoys her job as the acting head of security at the quaint yet prestigious Drake University, a private college and graduate school located on the west coast of the United States.Today, however, is not one of those days, because today, Associate Professor Chloe Frazer, their newly hired teacher and renowned lecturer of Anthropology, is stuck in a tree.(professors and security guards and feels, oh my)





	In the Advancement of Learning

Most days, Nadine Ross enjoys her job as the acting head of security at the quaint yet prestigious Drake University, a private college and graduate school located on the west coast of the United States.

All her life, she’s craved some form of order. As a quiet child growing up in rough-and-tumble Johannesburg, South Africa, she thrived on strict schooling and even stricter parents. Then, for a while, beginning at age 18 to 25, the military served a similar purpose, but after four tours of active duty, three gunshot wounds, and a shrapnel IED, she’s wrapped that part of her life up for good. A dozen scars and one honorable discharge later, and she was free to try and discover a way to start a new life. To become her own self, and follow her own rules, her own order.

And so she’d gone to the states, and formed Shoreline, a private security company for hire. She’d learned in the military that hurting people was easy—all you needed was a bullet, or even just a fist or two—but protecting them was a great deal harder. It was a challenge Nadine found herself eager to face, to solve; it helps that, of the two, hurting and helping, she greatly prefers the latter.

They worked small jobs at first to build their reputation. Concerts, mostly, and big business and hotel conferences. Nadine took whatever contracts she could that didn’t seem unnecessarily risky. Failure was and is not an option. Under her watch, there had yet to be a single reported incident in her entire professional career. A year of solid work later, Drake University, looking to fill positions for campus police, gave her a bid. Nadine signed within the week.

Now at age 32, Nadine has more than one hundred men and women working under her. There is not one inch of campus left unsecured, and her record is virtually spotless. Every year, Drake University extends their contract. This year, they’ve added a nice pay raise and a few choice benefits.

She feels accomplished, looking back on it all. Before, she was a good soldier. Brave, but not stupid. Smart, but not cocky. This job, however, she finds far more difficult than war. Killing is simple, but trying to learn how to be a good employee, a good civilian, and a good person most of all, is still a true enigma to her, though she is trying her best.

As always, stability and routine remain her backbone. It’s what she needs. Luckily, this job gives her that. Drake University, while smaller than some colleges, still sprawls out over five hundred acres. It boasts more than fifty buildings, some of which are over ten stories. Student enrollment every semester averages 20,000 heads. For security, there is no respite—there are always hallways to monitor, cameras to watch, doors to guard and lock and, perhaps most important of all, people to protect.

Most would balk in the face of such duty. Nadine takes pride in it. Her security team is well-trained and capably skilled. Since Shoreline began, she’s had no problems with insubordination, despite the fact that she’s a woman, foreign, and African—it serves as a credit to her ceaseless dedication, her firm candor. She gives the orders, and her men listen. She simply will not tolerate anything else.

Nadine knows some people like to joke about security guards, calling them rent-a-cops or police wannabes, even though she’s gone through months of boot-camp and years of live combat and bears her scars with a somber humbleness. Her knowledge of martial arts and self-defense techniques is unmatched. As a licensed security agency, she has the power to apprehend and arrest. She carries a gun, plastic handcuffs, and mace, and wears a stiffly starched white and black uniform with her company’s tri-shaped logo stitched into the shoulder. Her uniform may not have a nice shiny badge to go with it, but Nadine still feels as though she stands a bit taller every time she puts it on. Every role in society, no matter how small, fills a purpose, and this is hers.

Some, she knows, would quickly grow bored with the so-called tedium and monotony her job entails. She and her men patrol the same routes daily. They lock doors and unlock them. They respond to escalating situations before they can become outright disasters. They traverse the campus is company vehicles. And, at the end of the day, there is always paperwork to sort through. Nadine likes the regimen of it, the discipline. It’s not a particularly dangerous or rigorous vocation—six years at Drake University, and she’s never had to draw her gun—but it keeps her busy, keeps her fed, and keeps her happy, for the most part.

It’s a good job. It pays decently for someone who lives far below their means, as she does. She likes the students—or, most of them; the ones who are there, eager to learn, to start the next stage of their lives. The partiers and trouble-makers, she can do without. She likes her coworkers, the men and women who serve under her, and the dutiful, learned professors who have earned her respect over time. Most days, she will look back on her hours worked and feel a sense, however small, of accomplishment. Most days, she is satisfied with the path her life has taken.

This, however, is not one of those days, because today, Associate Professor Chloe Frazer, their newly hired teacher and renowned lecturer of Anthropology, is stuck in a tree.

 

—

           

The very first time Nadine sees Chloe Frazer— _sees_ , not _meets_ , because meeting would imply an actual conversation, of which there is none—is the day of fall freshman orientation, Drake University’s re-opening to the public after a quiet summer semester. While Drake University has earned its reputation as a graduate school, it still offers dozens of undergrad courses. Typically, fall orientation is the busiest day of the year for the University, and for Nadine and her security team—graduation takes a very, very close second.

The grounds are abuzz. Students are everywhere. Most are confused, or lost. Returning alumni greet old friends and revisit stomping grounds. Parents park haphazardly and shuttle bags of clothes and bins of belongings into the dorms like a closely contained riot. Student ID badges are issued and given out. It is something very close to chaos, but as a now six-year veteran of campus security, Nadine is not alarmed. This level of activity is normal. Expected.

Nadine is stationed in the west part of campus today, where the majority of buildings that house graduate classes are located. She’s checking wings for disturbances out of the ordinary, confident in the competency of her men to handle the rest of the campus grounds. Some things, she prefers to check herself, and as the next day marks the first official day of classes, she wants to ensure everything is in order.

Professors armed with cardboard boxes and scuffed side-bags greet her as she passes. Most she knows well enough to extend a greeting rather than a stiff nod. All of them know her stoic nature is simply her personality, and not a personal affront. She asks one or two how their summer was, just to be polite, and then moves on after only a minute or so. There are many more wings to check, levels to sweep. She is not here to, as the Americans would say, shoot the breeze.

She is just entering the east-end stairwell, heading for the next floor up, when a woman with a red shirt and black hair comes streaking down the stairs at breakneck speed. She nearly crashes headlong into Nadine, but quick reflexes save them both. Nadine jerks herself to the side, and the woman does likewise, shouting a half-hearted, “Sorry!” behind her as she leaps down the last three steps, lands nimbly in a half-crouch, and then disappears into the nearest doorway. Oddly, it looks as though she’s clutching some strange object to her chest. If Nadine had to guess, she’d say it was a very old globe.

Running is not allowed in the University buildings. It’s dangerous and irresponsible. Normally, Nadine would have reacted by seizing the perpetrator by the arm and demanding to know what the rush is, but for some reason, all she’d done was stand there, as if struck dumb. She didn’t get a good look at the woman, but the shirt is rather distinctive, so she thinks she could pick her out of a crowd by that alone if pressed. She shakes herself, and makes to follow the red blur, when she hears a second person come tearing down the stair well.

It’s Nathan Drake, huffing and puffing, his wrinkled shirt colored by a bit of darkened sweat, buttons askew. He almost trips down the stairs and skids into the railing by Nadine and then stops, hands on his knees.

"Hey, Nadine,” he says casually, as though there is nothing strange about what’s occurring. “How’re you?”

“Fine,” she replies in a clipped tone. Nathan Drake is not her boss—the University, when it was formed over a hundred or so years ago, was supposedly named after one of his very distant ancestors, Sir Francis Drake, who’d donated multiple note-worthy artifacts and a sizable sum of money to its construction in the advancement of learning. The University has since been run by a board of elected directors and a quiet but efficient president who does not bear the name Drake in any manner. Nadine doesn't have much of an opinion of him, other than a formal gratitude that he continues to employ her, year after year.

Now, Nathan Drake, Nadine cannot stand—the man thinks he’s terribly clever, that everyone likes him, and tells stupid jokes and inane stories at every opportunity. As the University’s resident Professor of Archaeology, she can accept he’s a learned man, though she personally believes that doesn’t necessarily make him smart. Once, he’d caught her in a hallway and chatted about absolutely nothing for almost twenty minutes. She avoids him diligently now. The only time she will stop to speak with him is if his wife is also present. Elena Fisher is their Associate Professor of Journalism. Nadine likes her well enough. Elena is calm and kind and witty. How someone like Nathan Drake tricked her into marrying him is completely beyond her. Still, it is not her business, so she’s never pried.

Nathan catches his breath and lets out a loud, _whew!_ then straightens and grins at her in that lopsided way he probably thinks is terribly charming. “Did, uh, Chloe happen to run by here?”

“Chloe?”

“Chloe. Chloe Frazer, the new hire?”

Nadine blinks at him. She is unaware of any new professors joining the University ranks, despite the fact that security should be among the first notified. Someone has made a mistake somewhere. She narrows her eyes, annoyed by this oversight.

Nathan’s grin wavers a bit. Nadine appreciates the fact that he’s always seemed frightened of her, though she’s shorter and younger than him. Still, Nadine doesn’t doubt that, of the two of them, she’s the stronger and more capable one. In an all-out fight, she’d win. Probably take that deadbeat brother of his on at the same time, too.

“Right,” Nathan braves on. “Um. Professor Marlowe retired. It was kind of last minute. Something about her husband getting sick—or was it her son? I can never remember. Elena would know. Oh, you know what I heard? She told me the other week—” Nadine’s glare intensifies, bored already, and Nathan gulps audibly and then says quickly, “um, anyways, I recommended a friend of mine to fill in, 'cause she's this great lecturer and a really good professor, and, um, they hired her so I went to say hey today since I hadn't seen her in a while and she…” Here, he hesitates. “She stole my globe.”

So, it _had_ been a globe.

“What do you want me to do about it?” says Nadine, in a blank tone that suggests she will not be doing anything at all.

Nathan shrugs, looking vaguely helpless. “Can’t you, I dunno, get it back?”

“It’s a globe,” says Nadine. “Get it back yourself.”

Nathan shakes his head. “She’s just gonna steal it again.”

"Why did she steal it in the first place?”

“She’s a thief, that’s why.”

Nadine fights not to roll her eyes, as that would be unprofessional. So then, their newly hired professor is also a known thief. How wonderful. Her and her men will certainly be busy this semester, it seems.

“She’s _your_ friend. Sort out your own business,” she says brusquely. Nathan looks at her like she just threatened to throw him out a window, then nods and smiles broadly.

“Alright,” he says, starting down the stairs after the red blur at a much more appropriate pace, giving her a friendly wave. “Thanks anyways, Nadine. See you around!”

There is no sarcasm to his tone. Nadine has never met a man so affable. It’s downright irritating. She grunts at him in response and goes on with her floor-by-floor sweep of the building. Though she keeps an eye out for black hair and a red shirt, she does not catch sight of Nathan’s thief for the remainder of her shift. She does not find the globe either, though she cares far less about that. By the end of the day, she’s practically forgotten the entire—two, maybe three-second—encounter.

The name, however, she puts to memory. Chloe Frazer—noted thief. Nadine will not forget that.

 

—

 

Nadine does not formally meet this supposed thief, Chloe Frazer, until over a week later, when classes are in full swing, the University settling into a near constant buzz of commotion and activity as campus kicks into high gear. Even Nadine can hear it, halfway through her paperwork, tucked away in her office at Shoreline’s main security building, located close to the center of campus, dwarfed by the nearby library and recreation field.

A little after one in the afternoon, she gets a call to her direct line. It’s a noise complaint from History Professor Marisa Chase in Avery Hall—all of the buildings around campus are named after historical figures; Sir Francis Drake, apparently, had lots of friends.

Miss Chase complains that the classroom directly across from her sounds as though “a marching band is tramping through it at full volume.” Apparently, she's already attempted to deal with the matter personally and failed. Not thirty seconds after Nadine hangs up with her and prepares to radio Orca, her second-in-command, to look after it, there is another call. This time, it’s from Rafe Adler, a Business Professor housed adjacent to the noisy classroom, giving the same complaint as the first, though he describes the sound as “a drunken orchestra on steroids," and snappishly demands she deal with the problem immediately. Nadine assures him she will see to it personally, irked by his tone but doing her best not to show it. While it’s expected for classrooms to get rowdy during lessons, this level of disturbance is unacceptable. She decides to forgo radioing Orca after all. She will take this up herself.

It’s a quick drive across campus to Avery Hall and a brisk climb up five stories. The clamor swells with every flight of stairs. By the time she rounds the corner to the appropriate hallway, the noise is almost deafening. Even the windows are vibrating. She stops at room 512. Introduction to Anthropology, Nadine believes, an undergraduate course. She knocks politely, though she’s sure no one can possibly hear her, and ducks inside. Immediately, she comes up short.

The neat row of desks she last remembers seeing inside have been shoved sloppily to the corners of the room, while the students themselves are arranged in a lopsided circle at the center. Every one of them is armed with what appears to be traditional instruments of multiple indigenous cultures, and each is doing their best to play, beat, or shake their instrument furiously enough to produce as loud a noise as physically possible, laughing all the while with unrestrained glee. Nadine recognizes an Indian sitar, a European flute of some sort, a weathered gong she guesses is Chinese, and a Japanese drum as large as the young man wailing on it. The instruments also, at first glance, appear to be quite real, which no doubt makes them very expensive to be playing with.

One student stops when they spot her and nudges another, who is holding up her phone to take a picture of the festivities. Eventually it goes quiet as three dozen pairs of wide eyes turn on her. Nadine’s ears are ringing in the sudden silence. She clears her throat and squares her shoulders. A few students visibly quail. Others just stare cluelessly.

“Where’s your professor?” she asks in her firmest tone.

A woman steps forward. Nadine blinks. It's the one who was taking a picture with her cellphone, like some proud parent egging on misbehaving children. Though she appears a few years older than Nadine, she’d initially mistaken her for one of the students. Then she realizes it's also the woman from the week before, with the black hair and red shirt. Nathan Drake’s friend, Chloe Frazer. The renowned thief.

“Chloe Frazer?” she tries.

"That’s me,” says the woman with a cheerful grin. She has an odd accent Nadine can’t place.

Nadine hesitates. She doesn’t like to reprimand professors in front of their students unless she can help it. “Would you step out with me for a moment, please?”

“Oh, I’d _love_ to go out with you,” husks Chloe with a warm breathiness to her tone, and _winks_. Nadine stands there, a bit startled by the blatant come on, as Chloe swivels back to her class. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone, kids. Open your books and read or something. Or just play on your phones like I know you will.” The kids laugh in a genuine way that gives Nadine the impression they already like their professor a good deal.

Once they’re in the hall, door to the classroom firmly closed, Nadine falters. Up close, she discovers Chloe Frazer is terribly pretty. Her eyelashes are dark and long, her silky black hair gleaming in the light, already coming loose from its lazy braid. Her t-shirt—unsurprisingly, a dark red color—appears old and worn and soft, and her jeans have a hole in the knee. On her feet are a scuffed pair of boots.

Nadine swallows thickly. Beautiful women have always made her nervous, and this woman makes her very nervous indeed, despite the fact that she has never seen a professional dressed so unprofessionally. Chloe is also slightly taller than her, which Nadine abruptly dislikes, though her height has never bothered her before. Something about the way this Frazer woman looks at her makes Nadine very aware of how she is standing, back rigid, shoulders set, and how her hair looks, scraped back into its customary ponytail, ends no doubt starting to frizz, or the fit of her starched uniform, straining around the press of her muscles. Chloe does not appear intimidated in the least by the gun and plastic handcuffs on Nadine’s belt. Rather, she seems intrigued by her.

“Am I in trouble?” Chloe asks sweetly, with a coy smile that affects Nadine perhaps a bit more than she’d prefer.

“Mrs. Frazer,” she begins.

“ _Mrs?_ Now _that’s_ a good one,” laughs Chloe, who puts her hands on her lean hips, thumbs shoved into her belt, and—her ring finger is bare. So, then.

“ _Miss_ Frazer,” Nadine starts again. “My department received a noise complaint from your neighboring classrooms. I’d appreciate if you and your students could keep it down.”

“Sorry,” says Chloe flippantly. “We were learning about the historical significance of songs and musical instruments of tribal communities around the world. I’m trying to get the students to feel like they’re one big family, you know? Plus, I’ve always thought it’s better to learn by doing rather than reading.”

“It’s Anthropology 101,” says Nadine. “You should probably be using the textbook.”

“And maybe I will,” Chloe replies cheekily. “If I feel like it.”

That makes Nadine pause. Professor Marlowe, if she recalls correctly, had always followed a very strict and detailed syllabus that she never strayed far from when she taught Anthropology. Professor Frazer, however, seems to be winging it.

“Where’d you get the instruments?” she asks, suddenly suspicious. Chloe laughs.

“I certainly didn’t steal them. They’re mine.”

“Yours?” Nadine parrots in disbelief. “You just so happened to have all those instruments on hand?” The idea is odd, but not quite impossible.

“Well, yeah. I am a collector of antiquities, after all.”

A warning bell goes off in Nadine’s head. She cocks her jaw. “Don’t suppose a globe is a newer part of that collection.”

Chloe’s grin turns wicked and sharp. Her eyes make a slow pass up and down Nadine, boots to crown. “So _that’s_ where I remember you from. You’re not one to forget. Sorry for not stopping before. How ‘bout a proper introduction?” She extends her hand. Her nails are short and blunt, her knuckles red and scratched from some unknown activity. “You know my name. What’s yours, love?”

Despite her better judgment, Nadine extends her own hand and gives Chloe’s a firm shake. She is surprised to feel hard calluses on Chloe’s long brown fingers. “Nadine Ross. Head of security.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “So I _am_ in trouble.” She sounds delighted at the notion.

“No. This is just a warning. I won’t write you up. Unless it happens again.”

"Nah, I’ll come up with some other lesson. Maybe we’ll go outside for a field trip. A walk is always nice.”

Nadine frowns. “What does that have to do with anthropology?”

“Beats me,” says Chloe, without an ounce of shame. “To be honest, I wanted the mythology job here, but _that_ bloke’s about a hundred and still won’t die. But I needed the work and Nate said they only had this one open. I figured it was better than nothing.”

Nadine hesitates, wary. “Are you accredited for anthropology or not? Nathan said you were a lecturer.”

“’Course, love. Got the fancy papers and everything to prove it.” At Nadine’s deadpan expression, she chuckles and crosses her arms under her breasts. “Don’t believe me? How ‘bout you give me your number and I’ll text them all to you?”

Nadine stiffens. To her horror, she feels herself blush profusely. It has been some time since anyone—woman or man—has so obviously flirted with her. It is something she is not used to in the least.

“That’s,” she starts. “That’s not necessary.”

Chloe, who by all means appears to be a (somewhat) highly functioning adult woman, _pouts_. “If you say so.”

“I’ll give you the number to my office on campus,” says Nadine, just to make her stop. Chloe perks up at once. “If you find yourself needing something. Or you have a question about… security.” Christ. How stupid did that sound?

Chloe just smiles. “Let me grab a pen.” She opens the classroom door with a polite, “After you.” As she steps in, Nadine feels a subtle brush at the small of her back. She imagines Chloe’s hand hovering there, ushering her inside, and composes herself when three dozen students swing their attention back onto the two of them. Chloe steps over to her desk and rustles around, then hands Nadine a pen and paper.

“Are we in trouble, Miss Ross?” asks a student she vaguely recognizes. A sophomore, maybe. The freshman in their ranks goggle and stare.

“No,” she says shortly as she jots down her name and office phone number for Chloe. “But I’m afraid music class is over for the day.” A few students chuckle. Others groan in disappointment. Nadine fights a grin, and replaces the pad of paper on the desk. Only then does she notice that on the far corner of the desk is Nathan Drake’s stolen globe. As Nadine suspected, it looks very old and is probably expensive, or holds some sort of personal significance to him. Nadine struggles against another, larger smile, and pointedly chooses to ignore its presence. For now.

Again, she feels a subtle nudge at her lower back, and turns to find Chloe standing very close. The sudden proximity is nearly alarming. Nadine can’t help but take a step back, wondering what she just felt. Surely Frazer didn’t just grope her in front of her students. Besides, her arms are down by her sides, fingers buried casually in her pockets.

“Enjoy the rest of your class,” Nadine says, trying to be polite. “Quietly, please.”

“Right.” There is a mischievous light in Chloe’s greyish-blue eyes. “Guess I should cancel the drum circle, then. And the traditional goat sacrifice to follow.”

Nadine just shakes her head. “Just… keep it down, alright? Next time, it’ll be a written warning,” she says.

The smirk on Chloe’s face only grows sharper. “I’ll try, but if I know you’ll be the one coming back to give it to me, I might have a hard time of it.”

Nadine blinks at her. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods, and then walks quickly away, feeling off balance and a bit like she’s the one in trouble now.

 

—

 

There is about three days of relative peace for Nadine in which she tries her very best to forget about Professor Chloe Frazer and that smile of hers. Things have been progressing as normal with her duties. Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Nadine is confident this semester will be a quiet, predictable one.

And then she gets the call about the tree.

It’s 10 AM when Nadine hears a muted buzzing. It takes her a moment to realize her phone is ringing, but it isn’t her work phone. It’s her personal cellphone, stuffed into its customary location in the back pocket of her pants. Even stranger, when she fishes it out to peer at the screen, the caller ID says _Chloe_ , followed by three red heart emojis. Nadine does not have anyone by that name in her phone, and she does _not_ use emojis. She stares at the screen for almost ten seconds, at a loss, before hitting accept.

“Hello?” she answers with some caution.

“Nadine!” comes Chloe Frazer’s bright yet husky voice. “How’s it?”

Nadine closes her eyes for a moment to reign her flaring temper. “Frazer. How are you calling me right now?”

“Why, with my phone, love, how else?”

“No,” snaps Nadine, annoyed. “How’d you get _into_ my phone?”

“Oh. I swiped it, the other day. When you came to my classroom. Put my number in. Just wanted to make it easier for the two of us.”

Swiped it—?

The touch she’d felt, she remembers with a jolt. The one she’d thought was her imagination. She’d felt it twice. Once to take her phone, another to put it back. How…? Suddenly she feels very stupid for not having a PIN to lock her phone with, and vows to set one up immediately.

“Drake’s right,” she growls. “You _are_ a thief.”

Chloe laughs, not offended in the least. “Nate’s a poor sport. You know he fancies himself a pickpocket, too? But I’m better.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“I’m, er, in a bit of a pickle, as the Americans would say.” She pauses for a moment. “Um. How should I say this…”

“Out with it, Frazer.”

Chloe sighs loudly into the speaker, and then mumbles something very quickly that Nadine doesn’t catch.

“What?”

Again there is an undecipherable jumble of words.

“Frazer,” she growls, patience waning.

Chloe sighs and swears. “Alright, fine, I’m bloody stuck in a tree, alright?”

The line goes quiet between them. Nadine can honestly think of no reply to such a statement.

“You’re stuck in a tree,” she repeats dumbly.

“Yup.”

“On campus?”

“No, in the Western Ghats of India— _of course on bloody campus_ —”

“How did you—?”

“Look, could you just come get me already? The students are starting to stare. Next they’ll be throwing things.”

Nadine goes, not that she has much choice in the matter. Along the way, she gets another text. It's a selfie from Chloe, her head and shoulders surrounded by a canopy of leaves and branches. Nadine can't quite tell how high up she is. Chloe's expression is only partly sheepish. _Help!_ she's written beneath. Nadine scowls and stuffs her phone back into her pocket. This woman is going to drive her mad.

She finds Chloe on the east end of campus, near the auditorium. The trees here are massive, some topping a hundred feet or more. A small crowd of students have gathered around the base of a particularly high-reaching tree, but Nadine sends them off with little fanfare; a single glare is sufficient.

Afterwards, she cranes her head back, and before long, spots a gaudy red shirt on one of the upper branches, quite a bit higher than she’d anticipated. Chloe waves down at her cheerily, kicking her dangling legs back and forth, like a kid on a playground swing. The branch she's perched on is not much thicker around than her leg, though she doesn’t appear the least bit concerned of her perilous predicament.

“How did you even get up there?” Nadine calls up to her. Though exasperated, she’s genuinely curious.

“Rope,” Chloe calls back. As if that explains everything. Which it doesn’t.

“A rope,” says Nadine doubtfully. “And where is this rope?”

“I, er, dropped it.” Chloe points. Nadine looks over, to where a long length of rope topped with a blunt grapple hook is coiled on the grass, by the trunk.

“And you climbed up there, with your rope, why exactly?”

“Nate bet me I couldn’t.”

Nadine just stares.

“Don’t look at me like I’m an idiot, love.”

“You’re the one stuck in a tree.”

“So? Maybe I like it up here. Besides, people get stuck in trees every day.”

“You have a Master’s Degree,” says Nadine.

“I have a _Doctorate_ ,” replies Chloe, sounding deeply offended by the previous notion, despite the fact she’s still the one stuck in the tree, and not Nadine, who doesn’t even have a Bachelor’s.

Nadine looks around. She doesn’t have the faintest idea of how to get Chloe down. She could try the rope, but with her luck, they’d end up with both of them stuck there on the branch. Chloe’s gone remarkably high in her climb, and while Nadine is comfortable with heights, she didn’t scale very many trees as a child. Probably, she’ll fall and break her neck if she even attempts to join her.

“Should’ve called the fire department, Frazer, not campus security.”

“Oh, but then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face, now, would I?”

Nadine ignores that. “Any bright ideas?”

“A ladder?” Chloe ventures.

Nadine fetches a ladder. It’s the tallest the University has, a thick, two-man metal monstrosity, but she handles it well enough by herself. Unfortunately, big as it is, it stops about six feet shy of the tree’s lower branches. Nadine props it against the trunk instead and climbs up to the very top rung, where a sticker very firmly warns one should never stand. With nothing to balance herself with, she holds on to the rough bark of the tree instead. Maybe, if Chloe climbs down as far as she can, Nadine will be able to grab her. Their only other option is to get a trampoline and have Chloe jump, though that will be their very last option. They’ve caused enough of a scene already.

“Try to climb to me,” she tells Chloe, and watches, neck cricked back, chin digging into musty-smelling tree bark, as the other woman navigates through the thick-limbed branches with relative ease. She seems confident, up here. Completely without fear. Nadine can’t help but notice a flicker of brown skin as her shirt lifts and pulls against her torso, and then looks away, feeling guilty.

“I think this is as close as I can get,” says Chloe. She doesn’t sound very close at all. Nadine shifts for an attempt to grab her and almost loses her balance. “Shit.” This won’t work. Plan B, then. If Nadine can’t grab ahold of Chloe, Chloe will have to grab ahold of Nadine. Nadine turns to face the tree and steadies herself. “Think you can reach me? Shimmy down the trunk.”

Leaves rustle as Chloe comes closer. “Sure thing, china.”

China? Where did that come from? “I’m from South Africa,” she says, confused.

Chloe bursts into a guffaw of laughter. The sound of it makes something go tight and warm in Nadine’s chest. She presses her forehead to the hard, knobby wood and ignores it. This is not the time nor the place to acknowledge how much she likes that laugh. They are in a tree, for Christ’s sake.

“No, it’s not—it—I’ll tell you later,” says Chloe, audibly struggling not to laugh. Nadine just grunts and hopes she didn’t sound too stupid, just then. She listens to the subtle sound of Chloe’s breathy huffs and the rough scrape of her jeans and t-shirt against the coarse tree bark. “Ready?”

“Ja.”

Nadine tenses herself so she won’t buckle, and feels the hard points of Chloe’s shoes tentatively touch her shoulders. Finding her steady, Chloe drops more weight on her, inching herself down one handhold at a time, bear-hugging the trunk when she runs out of branches. Nadine braces herself to take Chloe’s full weight, wincing as her lowering knees dig into her spine. She flexes hard to keep the both of them still and solid. A hand gropes, then lands on her shoulder. A moment later, a second lands on the opposite. Nadine holds her breath at the feeling of Chloe’s warm body dragging against her back in a tortuously drawn out rub. Breathing hard in her ear, Chloe plasters herself to Nadine, holding her tightly around the waist as she finds room on the ladder for her feet.

“Well,” she says against the back of Nadine’s neck, sounding slightly out of breath. “You’re a strong one, aren’t you?”

“Get down,” Nadine replies. It’s almost a snarl. Her heart is thumping hard.

"While we're up here, you think I could get a picture of—"

Christ, what was with this woman and that stupid phone of hers? " _No_ ," Nadine growls.

Chloe laughs softly in her ear and holds her by the belt for balance as she reaches for the first rung of the ladder with her other hand. Nadine hears the metal clank as she descends, and quickly follows after her. She makes a point not to look at her as she shortens the ladder and pulls it from the tree. With minimal effort, she hefts and carries it back to the utility shed on her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Chloe watch her, and then turn to collect her fallen rope and attach it to a loop on her belt.

Once the shed is closed and locked, Nadine steels herself for another round. This woman is beyond infuriating. When she spins around, Chloe is standing right in front of her, and Nadine balks.

“So,” Chloe says lightly, “save many women from trees in your line of work?”

“No,” says Nadine matter-of-factly. “That was a first.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She smiles—not teasing this time, just warm, and appreciative—and looks at Nadine through the fan of her dark eyelashes. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“Just stay out of the trees,” Nadine says. Her plans to write Chloe an infraction crumble on the spot. Strong and steady as she was in the tree, here, facing Chloe, she feels weak and shaky. As an afterthought, she adds a firm, “Please.”

Chloe puts a hand over her heart. “I’ll try my best.”

Nadine supposes that’s probably all she’s going to get, and leaves it at that.

 

—

 

After the tree incident, Nadine finds herself running into Chloe suspiciously often. Rarely will a day go by without at least catching sight of her somewhere on campus. Considering how big the University grounds actually are, Nadine does not think it’s by coincidence alone. Some fault must fall to bad luck as well, or just Chloe being a… well, a brat.

Driving about during her daily patrols, Nadine will spot her walking casually from building to building, laughing and talking with Nathan or Elena or other professors—unlike Nadine, who is standoffish and blunt with the staff, Chloe seems to have no shortage of friends. In the mornings, Chloe will usually have a massive cup of coffee in hand. In the early evenings, when classes are through, Nadine will often catch her pootling out of the staff parking lot in a dinged-up red jeep 4x4 that looks far from road legal. If Nadine’s spotted, Chloe will smile and wave. She always appears happy to see Nadine, which is a change from the usual stiltedness she’s earned from the rest of the professors. Despite herself, Nadine will, if not smile, at least wave back. She likes that Chloe doesn’t treat her like she’s security, or some background character to be ignored. Instead, she acts almost like they’re… friends. It’s odd, but not unpleasant. Or unwanted.

Several weeks into the semester, Nadine is running a quick sweep through the library. She always volunteers for the route because the library has a pet cat for the students to cuddle and hold when they’re stressed or anxious, which is the norm during finals or even mid-terms. Nadine has a soft spot for the little thing, who is named Meenu. If there aren’t too many people around, she will spend a good part of her morning break petting and playing with her.

So, of course, once she finds the cat, it already has a captive audience. Meenu is on a table in the corner of the communal area, purring happily in the ring of Chloe’s arms, who hugs the cat to her chest and smooches at it affectionately, and then rubs her face against its soft brown-and-black striped back in a gesture so unrestrained and beguiling it makes Nadine insanely jealous. She wouldn’t be caught dead nuzzling a cat in public. Her reputation would never recover, while, Chloe, naturally, has no reputation to uphold, or doesn't care enough about it for it to matter. It is, simply, not fair.

She halts her approach, suddenly nervous, and is about to leave Chloe to her enthusiastic cat-nuzzling in peace when Meenu spots her, meows, and slinks out of Chloe’s grasp to leap off the table and trot up to her. Purring loudly, she winds herself around and through Nadine’s ankles, butting her head against Nadine’s work-issued combat boots. Nadine wants to reach down and give her a good scratch around the ears, cooing at her in her native tongue of Afrikaans like she usually does, but Chloe’s watching her now with that slowly forming grin of hers, chin on her fist, eyelids heavy, like a sleepy predator sizing up its next meal.

“Hey, china,” she greets. “Looks like you’ve got a fan.”

Meenu is meowing continuously now. Nadine grimaces. Something like a little cat begging for her attention shouldn’t be embarrassing, but with Chloe watching her with that smug look on her face, it somehow is. “I give her treats,” she admits with some chagrin, and reaches into her pocket to retrieve one. Meenu crunches it down with relish, and pushes back against Nadine’s hand when she leans down to give her a few quick rubs under the chin. Nadine looks up to find Chloe grinning broadly at her.

“You’re adorable,” she says—purrs, really. Her voice is low, throaty. The nervous feeling in Nadine’s stomach grows even stronger.

“Shut up,” Nadine replies in a quiet huff, looking away.

“Oh, and now you’re blushing.”

Nadine refocuses on Meenu, running the broad of her palm from her furry ears to the tip of her tail as the little cat arches its back and purrs, then stands awkwardly from her half-crouch.

“Want to sit with me for a bit?” Chloe asks, sounding hopeful. Technically, Nadine could, since she’s on break, but she finds herself shaking her head and stepping hurriedly away.

“Sorry. On the clock. Have a good day,” she manages, over her shoulder.

She hears Chloe chuckle, “I will now,” and feels herself flush all over again. For the rest of the day she deliberately avoids human contact with anyone, especially the new Anthropology professor.

Then, a few days later, things begin to appear on her desk at her office. One morning, it is a large cup of black coffee. Nadine prefers tea, and lets Orca have it. The next day, the coffee has been replaced by a small box with a variety of tea bags inside. Donuts show up the day after. Nadine doesn’t eat sweets, but passes them out among her security team. Something or someone must tip Chloe off—because really, who else would be sending her things like these?—and for the next week or so, she arrives to work to find several pieces of fruit or healthy granola bars littering her desk instead. The thoughtful gesture is not unwelcome, but Nadine still questions Orca of how they keep appearing if the door to her office is not unlocked before Nadine arrives. He is as clueless as her, so Nadine consults the security cameras in the hallway for answers.

Actually watching footage of Chloe picking the lock on her office door is something close to infuriating, especially when Chloe turns to the camera and gives it a thumbs up in success once it swings open. The damn woman has a honest-to-god _lockpick kit_ —which Nadine will be confiscating if she ever sees it in person. As she watches, recorded-Chloe slips her tools back into the kit, and then stuffs that into her shirt, under the strap of her bra—really, Frazer?—and ducks into Nadine’s office with her morning gift tucked under her arm. She’s gone for a moment, then appears again, pausing to lock the door on her way out. Then she waves a cheeky farewell to the camera, and even blows a kiss. Nadine contemplates investing in several deadbolts and a new alarm system, but ultimately decides against it. Chloe’s immature behavior is annoying, but in a vaguely endearing way, more harmless than anything. Probably, she is just trying to get a rise out of her. And Nathan did call her a thief, after all. Picking locks runs in the same vein. Nadine will let her have her fun. At the first instance of anything decidedly more criminal or malicious, however, she will be forced to step in.

Nadine’s begun keeping her cellphone in her desk as well—to avoid another pickpocketing attempt—but when she takes it out at the end of the day, there will be random text messages and pictures sent from Chloe waiting for her. Usually they are obnoxious selfies, or inane conversation pieces. She ignores them for the most part, but doesn’t delete Chloe outright from her phone. Chloe doesn’t seem to pick up the hint, and continues to text at least once a day. It’s a bit like having a excitable puppy who is insistent on getting some attention.

One evening, after getting home to her apartment, Nadine notices Chloe’s sent her a picture of a mahout riding an elephant, snapped from what she hopes is the Anthropology text book, which she should be following in the first place in order to properly teach her class.

 _I bet an elephant would be fun to pet_ , Chloe writes. _Maybe I’ll plan a trip to Africa during the summer break._

Nadine simply _has_ to send back, _That’s not an African elephant, it’s an Indian elephant. They’re smaller, have smaller ears, and a double-dome on the skull. And don’t ever try to pet one, especially if they have a calf. They’ll kill you._

Delighted by her contribution to the conversation, Chloe begins asking all sorts of questions about elephants, and then other animals. Nadine is half-reclined on her couch, almost an hour into a text conversation that consists of nothing but random animal facts before she realizes she’s allowed her secret to slip out—that she harbors a deep fascination and minor obsession with all the members of the animal kingdom. Still, Chloe doesn’t seem about to make fun of her for it, continuing to provide question after question, so maybe it’ll be alright. Her fellow soldiers in the army had near torn her to pieces about her little hobby, and it’d become something like a dirty secret ever since.

It is nice to have someone who appreciates her extensive knowledge, someone to share it with. Talking with Chloe makes her acknowledge she was a bit lonely, before. But this... This, she likes.

 

—

           

After an uneventful weekend, Nadine works a half-shift—spent mostly doing paperwork in her office—before receiving an unexpected phone call. Charlie Cutter, Head Coach for Drake University’s men and women’s rugby teams, has had an emergency and cannot conduct the women’s late afternoon practice. Last year, she helped cover several practices as favors for him, and earned herself the made-up title of Emergency Assistant Coach—Cutter does not trust anyone who’s never personally played rugby before to actually coach it, and the rest of his coaching staff have almost no practical experience to go on, while Nadine has plenty, having played it as a child in South Africa, where it was and is a popular sport. Without complaint, she changes the schedule so her security shift isn’t left unmanned, and is on the field by 3:30PM.

Drake University boasts several collegiate sports teams; they have soccer, basketball, baseball, and rugby. While none have reached national fame or status, they have brought home several trophies and much pride. Of the four sports, Nadine prefers rugby by far. While in the military, she’d taught her platoon mates how to play. It’d been an easy albeit sometimes painful method of getting out frustrations that didn’t involve a gun.

Though she’s arrived fifteen minutes early, she finds nearly all the girls already arrived and going through their warm up drills without prompting. She’s pleased. Cutter runs a tight ship. Nadine doesn’t get to come to their practices very often, but for the most part, the girls listen to her. They seem to, if not outright like her, at least respect her, and that’s enough. They’re a smart bunch, overall. Driven. Perhaps one day, they’d earn a national title to bring home.

With coaching, she’s found she’s a better teacher by showing rather than telling, unlike Cutter, who likes to bellow and pace from the sidelines like an enraged bull. If the girls need to learn a new formation, Nadine will join their ranks and demonstrate with them, first-hand. She runs plays with them, shows them how to take hits and give them back. She can play Forward or Back positions. Forward is good if you’re strong, and can take a beating. It’s perfect for Nadine. Backs are fast, small, and do most of the kicking and throwing. Nadine has no problem there, either.

It’s a bit discombobulating, getting thrown headlong into one of the first practices of the year without warning, but Nadine is prepared. Most of the girls are returning students, and those that are new are quickly brought up to speed by their peers. Practice should go smoothly.

So, of course, as the girls are finishing their warm up and Nadine looks over Cutter’s training notes and strategies, she glances up at the surrounding stands and metal bleachers only to discover they have a new spectator, other than the couple dozen students who have assembled to socialize or study—Chloe Frazer, her feet propped on the bleacher seat in front of her, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping casually from an iced coffee with an air of nonchalance that almost seems a challenge.

Inwardly, Nadine groans. Chloe notices her looking over and gives her a small wave, before pulling out her phone and starting to text, or play a game, or do whatever it is she does with that stupid thing—take more selfies, probably. When Nadine turns away, her skin prickles. Chloe is watching her, she knows.

Luckily, it’s easy to forget the burning eyes on her back once they get started. Screaming muscles and cramping lungs will do that. Nadine barks out drills and instructions and has the girls set up their scrums. She shows them different ways to tackle and how to take a hit without risking injury. She runs with them, every step, and sweats and bleeds with them, just like she did with her fellow soldiers overseas.

An hour later, she glances into the stands. Chloe is still there. She is very obviously staring at Nadine’s arse. Nadine turns back to the girls. Some of them are snickering, so in retaliation, she makes them run suicides. As a sort of consolation, she does them, too.

Practice ends, and the girls trickle off to shower or to head to the dorm or home. Nadine stays behind to pick up the equipment, handing the bags off to staff members already preparing for the upcoming men’s practice. Nadine is prepared for another two hours of physical torture, then sees Cutter striding briskly across the field, returned from his emergency.

“Ross. ‘Preciate it.” He gives her a nod, a clap on the shoulder, and then starts bellowing orders at the staff.

Nadine picks up her things and eases the strap of her duffle over her bruised shoulder, just as Chloe rises from her seat on the bleachers, tosses her empty coffee into a nearby bin, and ambles over.

“Frazer,” says Nadine coolly in greeting. She is at once acutely aware of her coaching attire—a by now grass- and sweat-stained tanktop and running shorts to go with her rugby cleats. She feels rather disgusting, and is sure she smells awful, but she doesn’t necessarily want to abandon Chloe for a hot shower. At least, not so far. Chloe hasn’t opened her mouth yet.

“That looked fun,” Chloe says brightly. “Didn’t follow a bloody thing, but still. Very entertaining.”

Nadine cocks her head. “What, no rugby in—” she hazards a guess “—Australia?”

“We have rugby,” Chloe confirms, and pumps an unenthusiastic fist. “Go Wallabies. You know, that’s what the ball’s made of over there?” She’s obviously joking, but the horrified look Nadine gives her at even the thought of such a thing makes her burst into laughter. “Sorry, sorry—”

"Thought you said you were funny, Frazer.”

“I am!” Chloe insists.

“Whatever you say.” Nadine pauses to wipe a sweaty forearm over her mouth and Chloe takes the moment to pluck up one of the extra rugby balls scattered across the grass. She tosses it up and down a few times, spinning it in mid-air.

“Think I’d make a good rugby player?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” says Nadine, eyeing her up and down. “Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face, ja?”

And, she’d been joking when she said it, but Chloe’s eyes go softer, warmer. Her smile turns sweet. She liked that. “Bet you’d be able to teach me a thing or two,” she teases.

“Ja,” agrees Nadine blankly. “That’s sort of what a coach does. Well. Emergency Assistant coach.”

"Show me something, then,” says Chloe.

“Like what?”

“Anything. How’s the game start?”

“With a kickoff.”

“What, like football?”

“No. In rugby, you do a drop-kick.”

“Show me.”

“Why?”

“So I can do it.”

To Chloe's credit, Nadine only has to demonstrate once—she takes a running start, drops the ball in front of her, lets it bounce off the ground, and then unleashes a ferocious upward kick, sending the ball soaring downfield. She jogs after it, retrieves it from where it’s wobbling in the grass, and jogs back to Chloe, who takes it with a determined look on her face.

Chloe copies her form almost exactly. The ball doesn’t go as far as Nadine’s did, but it’s still high and straight enough to be impressive. Nadine tries to keep her expression blank, but Chloe must notice her surprise, and grins.

“British-Australian, love. It’s in the blood.”

Nadine just narrows her eyes. “Explains the accent,” she says finally.

“I like yours better,” Chloe replies easily. “South Africa, you said? Can you speak Afrikaans?”

“What do you think?” Nadine snarks as she gathers her duffle once more and swings it back over her aching shoulder. “Why, can you?”

“Nah. Always wanted to learn, though.”

Nadine knows what comes next—Chloe will suggest Nadine teach her, and turn the request into some kind of innuendo. Since they’ve met, Chloe has always seemed to have the upper hand with her, so this time, Nadine gives her a smirk and heads her off with a flippant, “Take lessons, then,” and walks off. Behind her, Chloe laughs, low and husky. The sound of it goes right down Nadine’s back to the base of her spine and stays there, tingling faintly. Once again, she feels Chloe’s eyes on her as she strides off the field.

 

—

 

“We have _got_ to stop meeting like this, china,” says Chloe, a few days later, grinning at Nadine over her shoulder. Nadine wishes her smile were not so pretty, her eyes so light and grey. It makes it hard to be stern, to keep the disapproving look locked on her face.

“Maybe stop climbing things around campus. Or learn how to get back down afterwards.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Chloe replies, and turns back to her view.

Today, she’s gotten herself stuck at the very top of the Khan Lecture Hall, a massive brick and mortar building older than either of them by several decades, as well as half the other buildings on campus. She’s sweaty and dirt-streaked from her lofty climb, but seems rather proud of herself. Nadine doesn’t know whether to be impressed or fed up. She’s had to climb ten flights of stairs and open a maintenance hatch to reach the roof to get to her.

“You really climb all the way up here?” Nadine asks, trying to keep the awe out of her voice. Just one look down makes the pit in her stomach drop to her ankles, and she is not one to be bothered by heights. By the look of Chloe’s callused, blistered hands, and the length of rope looped at her belt, she did indeed. “You do know we have a climbing wall in the gymnasium, correct?”

“I prefer the real thing.”

Nadine rolls her eyes, because Chloe isn’t looking, and nobody else is around. When her security team had gotten the call for a crazy woman scaling the lecture hall, she’d demanded to take it herself, despite the late hour—6PM, past the end of her usual shift. Still, she’d rather stay after hours than have someone else take care of it. This one was hers.

"Least I don’t have to haul a ladder out this time,” she gripes. “Come on, then.”

“Can’t you let me soak in my victory?”

“You can soak it in on the way down. I’ll be nice and not put you in restraints, but only because I’d have to listen to you make every joke you can about them.”

Chloe chuckles good-naturedly, and pats the stone parapet beside her. “Just sit with me a minute, china. The sun’s about to set.”

Nadine makes a face, but Chloe has already turned back to their spectacular view. Nadine knows she shouldn’t be encouraging this type of behavior, but it’s quiet up here, and the breeze is pleasant, the sky just beginning to darken to a hazy, orange-limned purple on the far horizon. After a long moment of hesitation, she walks over and sits next to Chloe. She cannot remember if they have ever been so close to each other before now. She can feel Chloe’s body heat radiating from her skin, only a few inches from her own. The smell of her is warm and musky. Nadine likes it, and wishes she didn't, so she could at least think straight.

“You said you were going to explain that to me sometime,” she says suddenly.

“Explain what, love?”

“China.”

Chloe laughs, clearly remembering Nadine’s previous reaction to the nickname. “Right. Sorry. It’s—it’s a bit hard to explain. It’s cockney. A rhyming slang. Mate, china-plate. Get it?”

Nadine stares. She doesn’t, really, but the nickname seems harmless, so she just shrugs. “Better than others I’ve heard, I suppose.”

Chloe gives her a measuring look. “If you don’t like it, I can call you Nadine. But only if you call me Chloe.”

It’s tempting, but Nadine wants to stick with _Frazer_ for at least a little while longer. “That’s alright, Frazer.”

“Fine, _Ross_ ,” Chloe mutters, pretending she’s mad, though Nadine can hear the amusement in her voice. She fiddles with a small pouch attached to her belt for a moment and extracts a plastic container from it. Inside are four brown biscuits. “Want one?”

“What is it?”

Chloe hands her one. “They’re _anzac_ biscuits.”

Nadine turns it over, holding it between two fingers. It looks a bit like a cookie. She’s never heard of them.

“Australian delicacy,” Chloe explains. “My mum likes to bake and then send me things in the mail. Bloody expensive, but hey. They’re good, I promise.”

After a moment, Nadine takes a bite. The biscuit is surprisingly soft and rich, with a curling edge of sweetness. “What’s in it?” she asks as she chews.

“Witchetty grubs.”

Nadine coughs loudly but doesn’t spit out her mouthful. She gives Chloe a deadpan expression. Chloe laughs, but it’s not a mean, cruel laugh, and Nadine doesn’t get upset. It’s obvious Chloe is just messing with her. She almost wants to laugh herself. She keeps chewing, swallows, and eats the rest of the biscuit in one bite. If Chloe's mother takes the time to bake and send these to her daughter all the way from Australia—assuming that is where she lives—then it was kind of Chloe to share.

“Thanks,” she says softly.

“Mmm,” says Chloe.

For a while, they’re content to watch the clouds shift above them in silence. A minute or two later, Chloe breaks it with a quiet, “So, don’t know if you heard, but I’m giving a big speech ‘bout a pet project of mine in a couple weeks. Lots of fancy, important people are gonna be there. Professors, researchers, what have you. Nate’s all excited. Won’t shut up about it, really.”

“What will you be speaking about?” Nadine asks.

“Some research I’ve been doing for a long time. Big mystery probably no one’s heard of. Most anthropologists don’t believe it exists, either.”

“Do you?”

“’Course. Why else would I talk about it?” She gives Nadine a surprisingly shy look. “You want to come and listen?”

“I’ll probably be working,” says Nadine, sorry she has to let Chloe down. Watching her lecture seems as though it’d be interesting, to say the least.

“Working? Even better. You’ll have an excuse to be there, then.”

Nadine lets out a quiet laugh. True, if she were put her shift on the lecture hall that day, she might be able to catch it… She will consider it, at least. “I’ll see.”

Chloe nods and appears satisfied. She sighs loudly and then stands, dusting herself off perfunctorily. “Don’t suppose you’d let me rappel myself down?”

Nadine grins at her. “Not a chance.”

"And so that's a no on a picture of us as well?"

Christ, if she sees that phone one more time... " _Frazer_."

"Alright, alright, just asking, love."

 

—

 

Every Friday after work, Nadine meets with Orca and a dozen or so others of her security team to go for drinks at a local dive everyone calls Sully’s Bar, though its official name is Smuggler’s Den. It’s become something of a tradition over the years that she hasn’t had the heart to break. Her men appreciate the (albeit reluctant) camaraderie, and she appreciates that they do not push for more, although this is literally her only social obligation other than work, which doesn’t exactly count. She simply prefers to be alone, though spending a few hours in a loud, smoky bar once a week isn’t the absolute worst.

The owner of the bar is Victor Sullivan, a retired navy pilot who’d bought the establishment around the same time Nadine had started Shoreline. Victor had been one of her very first clients. She’d personally worked as a bouncer for him for more than four months, and cleared out her fair share of brawls and belligerent drunks. Now, Victor greets her every Friday with his customary roguish wit, warm familiarity and, if he’s feeling generous, a free drink for her and her boys.

The moment Nadine steps inside the bar, however, she knows she’s made a mistake, coming tonight. The first thing she hears, other than the usual rowdy hubbub of a busy night out, is the obnoxious sound of Samuel Drake’s braying laugh, right after he’s told a bad joke. Nadine’s lip automatically curls at the sight of him by the pool tables, drinking a beer and smoking, cue stick in hand.

Samuel Drake, in Nadine’s professional opinion, is a complete and utter idiot. While Nathan Drake, to Nadine, is _Nathan_ , Samuel will always be just _Drake_. Drake works as a night janitor at the University, the only position he can reasonably hold without getting fired, though she’s aware he gets written up at least once every few weeks for some infraction or another. He smokes, drinks, and doesn’t bathe on a regular basis. Nadine dislikes him even more than Nathan, but for good reason. Her tattoos are from serving time in the military; his are from serving time in prison. Nathan claims his brother has cleaned up his act since, but fifteen years is fifteen years, and Nadine does not trust Drake as far as she can throw him. Or, maybe, as far as Elena can throw him, since Nadine can probably throw him rather far.

Then she hears another laugh, light, flirty, rising up above the din of the bar, and her stomach plummets. It’s Chloe. With Drake. It’s a bit like a sucker punch, seeing them standing there together. In the low, dusky lights of the room, Chloe’s hair and skin look darker, her lashes longer. Nadine feels a pulse of attraction that curdles at the realization that she is obviously here on a date with Drake. She watches them a moment longer—Chloe, racking the cue balls for another game of pool, Drake, lighting up another cigarette moments after finishing his first—feeling wistful and sad at the way Chloe is smiling at someone she cannot stand. She can’t hear anything they’re saying, but it looks as though Chloe is teasing him about something, trying to get a rise out of Drake.

So, then. Nadine isn’t special. When Chloe teases and flirts with her—it’s just how Chloe treats everyone. Nadine isn’t angry, realizing this. She merely feels profoundly lonely, and very out of place. Suddenly she does not want to be here at all.

“Ma’am?” says Orca, sounding confused, trapped in the doorway behind her, where she’s standing, frozen.

She is thinking up her excuse to leave when she hears Victor’s sudden bellowing yell, “Hey! Take it outside!”

Nadine blinks out of her own head, and frowns. At the pool tables, Drake is suddenly chest to chest with another scruffy-looking fellow, the two of them posturing like alphas desperate to prove something. Chloe is at Drake’s shoulder, looking upset but trying to diffuse the quickly escalating situation and failing. Nadine’s spent enough time as a bouncer to know when a fight is inevitable. A punch hasn’t been thrown yet, but she can tell this fight has already begun.

Then the scruffy man’s friend gets up, and suddenly Drake has two strangers shouting at him. Foolishly, Drake doesn't back down. Chloe is still trying to get between them, her attempt at placating buried beneath a wave of testosterone, aggression, and far too much alcohol.

A third man gets up, and that’s when Nadine knows she’ll have to interfere. Victor’s bouncers are working their way over, but they look green around the gills and almost scared. They won’t reach the group in time before the tension explodes into violence.

“Orca—” she starts.

And then it happens—the scruffy man socks Drake in the nose without warning. Drake goes stumbling back into the pool table, catches his balance, and then hurls himself at the man. The bar around them roars. Chairs and tables scrape shrilly as the crowd tries to get out of the way. Beer bottles topple to the floor and shatter. Victor is shouting for his men to get in there already, but it’s a tangle, and Nadine doesn’t blame their reluctance. At the same time, her bouncer instincts kick into full drive. She glances at Orca, who nods, and they dive without hesitation into the boiling rabble, sure Victor will appreciate the help.

Drake’s wrestling with the scruffy man on the floor, so Orca tussles with the second and leaves the biggest fellow for her. Nadine sizes him up in an instant—broken nose, so he’s been in a fight before, heavily muscled up top, so he’ll probably try to punch her rather than kick, big, clunky boots on his feet, her in her light sneakers, that’ll help—and puts her fists up. The man takes a look at her—out of her work clothes, hair down, the bulk of her muscles mostly hidden by her light jacket—and grins, thinking he’s already won. Despite herself, Nadine finds herself grinning back. The back of her neck prickles as it always does before a fight, though it’s been years since her last. Her heart starts to pound. She hasn’t felt this way in a long while; dangerous, primed, and ready.

More than that, she is not afraid. As a bouncer, she’s broken a man’s wrist before for trying to put something in a girl’s drink. She’s crushed jaws and doled out black eyes by the dozens. This guy… This guy won’t even touch her.

He lunges. She reads it with ease, dodges, waits for him to turn back around, and snaps an upward kick toward his head. Her attacker doesn’t even see it coming. Her shin cracks into his nose, breaking it with an audible crunch. He goes down like a sack of wet cement, out cold. Nadine steps over him, a very small part of her disappointed by how quickly he’d fallen, then spots Orca struggling with his partner. She cracks her knuckles and heads over—

—and is blindsided by a fourth man, leaping from the crowd behind her. She takes a solid hit to the back of the head and stumbles forward, her vision flashing white. She spins, flails out a hand to try and steady herself against a nearby table, and takes another glancing hit, this time to the mouth. It’s a cheap shot, and she feels a searing heat as her lower lip splits and begins to bleed.

“Fuck,” she growls.

She’s up in an instant, fist drawn back—and then stands there, stunned, as Chloe herself darts into the fray, and soccer-kicks the man right between the legs. As he crumples to the ground, Chloe rears back and gives him a perfectly thrown left hook, snapping his head back and around from the force of it.

Chloe doesn’t even watch him go down—she’s already turning to Nadine. Her expression is tense and worried. Her eyes dart down to the blood dripping from Nadine’s chin. “Nadine—!”

“Ma’am!” calls Orca. He’s gotten his partner under control, shuffling him off to Victor’s bouncers to be thrown outside, or arrested, depending on how generous Victor is feeling tonight. Drake is still on the ground wrestling with the scruffy-looking one. Nadine and Orca tear them off of each other. Drake just falls backwards, into a pool table, while the other guy keeps fighting, kicking and snarling, so Nadine helps Orca get him under control, jamming his arms behind his back, before sending him off to join his sorry friends.

Then she turns back to Drake, still slumped over against a pool table. She seizes him by the front of his shirt and hauls him to his feet, one-handed. He groans. There is a bloody gash on his left eyebrow, probably from a ring, and he might be missing a tooth. Or perhaps he was already missing one. Nadine doesn't know, and doesn't care.

“Hey, Nadine,” coughs Drake, squinting at her with his one eye that isn’t swelled up like a balloon. “Nice to see ya.”

Nadine tightens the fist holding his shirt. She is very much prepared to toss him out on the street with the others.

A soft pressure lands on her outstretched arm. It’s Chloe, looking at her pleadingly. “Nadine, don’t kick him out. Please. He was trying to help, honest. That guy was drunk. He said some stupid things to me. Sam was just… being Sam. He was trying to help. I swear, he’ll behave, alright?” She glares at Drake for confirmation. “ _Alright?_ ”

Drake wipes his swollen bottom lip with a bruised hand, then checks his fingers for blood. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. I need a cigarette.”

Nadine hesitates. She’d love nothing more than to haul Drake out of the building and into the gutter, but if what Chloe says is true… She releases him with a shove, sending him tottering back. “Keep your boyfriend under control,” she bites out to Chloe, who looks ill for a split second.

“Boyfriend?” she repeats, incredulous. “Sam? That’s not—we’re mates, is all.”

"He could be your fourth cousin once removed for all I care,” says Nadine. “He starts another fight, he’s gone.” Very aware of how rude she is being, she stalks off before Chloe can get in another word.

Twenty minutes later, after helping Victor clean up the mess and giving his bouncers a stern lecture (if they were from Shoreline, she’d have fired them on the spot) Nadine has retreated to a far corner of the bar and is nursing a half-full glass of scotch on the rocks. She doesn’t particularly like alcohol, but it’s Victor’s favorite drink, and over time and with his insistence, she’s grown to almost like the velvety burn of it. She drains the rest and is tempted to signal Victor for another, which is her hint that it’s time to stop drinking, when someone sits on the stool next to her and slides over a tall, sweating glass of ice water.

“Hey,” says Chloe. For the first time since Nadine’s met her, she sounds sheepish. Restrained. “Thought maybe you’d want this.”

Nadine takes it almost resentfully. Is she really that easy to read? She takes a swallow, throat aching at the chill, and lowers it back to the bartop. “Sorry,” she says gruffly, before clearing her throat. “For earlier. I wasn’t very polite.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you were there, actually. My hero.”

Nadine snorts lightly into her glass. “Looked like you could handle yourself, back there.”

"Oh, I can throw a punch or two. Doesn’t mean I like to. Me, I’d rather a good long talk to sort things out. How’s the lip?”

It’s gone numb from the scotch, and is tingling now from the coolness of the water glass, so Nadine shrugs. “Fine.” She takes a moment to give Chloe a quick up and down. She appears a bit ruffled by the encounter, but relatively unharmed. Drake is noticeably nowhere in sight. “And you?”

“Can I be honest?” Chloe says, smiling ruefully. She motions with her left hand, the one she’d struck the man with. Her knuckles are red and bruised. “My hand is _killing_ me.” She laughs, and Nadine can’t help a small smile.

“Ja. Punching someone in the face will do that. Here.” She takes a couple cubes of ice from her drink, wraps it in her napkin, and takes Chloe’s hand in her own. Carefully she presses the cold napkin to Chloe’s red knuckles. It must sting, but Chloe doesn’t make a sound. Probably, she’s a lot tougher than anyone realizes.

“Where’d you learn how to fight?” Nadine asks, just for something to say.

“Oh, here and there. You?”

The answer is blunt, without inflection. “Army.”

“Army?” Chloe looks her up and down with an air of newfound respect. “Well. Thank you for your service, soldier.”

Nadine fights not to roll her eyes. “You don’t have to salute me or anything.”

“I’m sure I can think of a few other ways to show my appreciation.”

Nadine is very glad the glass of water is still on the bar, and not in her hand, since she probably would’ve spilled it, then. As it is, she goes still for a moment, as if in shock, then lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. “That’s alright,” she manages.

Abruptly, all the humor fades from Chloe’s eyes. For a moment, she looks utterly serious. “Listen, Nadine,” she says quickly, “if you want me to stop with the—with the flirting, I will, I get it if—”

“That—” Nadine cuts in. “That’s—no. No, it’s fine. I’m just… awkward, you know?”

“I dunno. I think you’re pretty smooth when you want to be. I mean, look around. You’ve got the most gorgeous woman in the bar sitting next to you, right now.”

“Do I?” says Nadine, and then swivels her head about. “Where is she, again?”

To her delight, Chloe cackles, and smacks her playfully on the arm. “Nadine Ross! That’s so rude! Just for that, I won’t let you buy me a drink.”

“I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

“I’m sure you will, china.” She winks, drawing her red-knuckled hand back, then turns to signal at Victor, but orders a water rather than more alcohol. Like Nadine, she seems to know her limits. As Victor fetches a glass and fills it with ice, he and Chloe trade flirty quips back and forth, like old friends. Victor, Nadine is aware, knows Nathan and his family, so naturally, by extension he would know Chloe as well. It's amusing to watch them banter. Chloe flirts as naturally as breathing, trading one-liners with Victor like it's a game. When she leans over the bar to receive her water, on reflex, Nadine glances down at the strip of light brown skin revealed on Chloe’s left hip as the back of her shirt rides up. A small shock of surprise passes through her when she spots a well-aged tattoo of a man with an elephant head looking back at her. Chloe sits back, water halfway to her mouth, and catches Nadine’s gaze.

“Oh, did you meet my Ganesh?” she asks.

“Your who?”

Chloe helpfully pulls up the side of her shirt, baring the tattoo a second time. “Ganesh. Hindu god. Son of Shiva, the Destroyer?”

“Why’s he got an elephant head?”

“Well, see, his father got very cross with him one day and chopped it off. But then his wife got mad because, hey, that’s their son, so Shiva cut off the head of an elephant, put that on Ganesh, and brought him back to life.”

“Lovely.”

“Isn’t it, though? Terribly dysfunctional family, let me tell you.”

Nadine sips her water. “He’s only got one tusk,” she notes, thinking it odd.

“Oh, it’s not gone. It’s broken, see?” Chloe points, but Nadine stifles the urge to lean closer and get a better look. She can hardly deal with Chloe at this distance, let alone get much closer. Her skin looks incredibly soft. “Had a run in with Parashurama’s axe, there. Another Hindu god, Parashurama. They were fighting, and Ganesh yielded, since he wanted to show everyone how powerful the axe was, because his father was the one…” She trails off, lips quirking. “Ha,” she says quietly. “Sorry. In case you can’t tell, sometimes I get a bit carried away with myself. I’m sure I was boring you.”

“No,” says Nadine. “It’s interesting. I can see why you wanted that mythology position.”

“Anthropology will just have to do for now,” says Chloe. “Least 'til I figure out what to do next. Anyways, Ganesh here—” she nods down at her hip “—he’s my little friend. Goes with me everywhere. We have all sorts of adventures together.”

“Is he related to your research?” Nadine asks. “The lecture you’ll be giving next week?”

Chloe props an elbow on the bar and leans her chin on her fist, blinking up at her precociously. “You’ll just have to come and listen to find out, now, won’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” Nadine replies, and they smile at each other.

Nearly an hour later, they’re still talking. Nadine would usually be in bed right now, but she likes talking to Chloe, especially when it’s on level ground, and not in a tree or on the top of an old building. Nevertheless, after checking her watch several times, she pushes her empty glass away and stands, patting her pockets to make sure her wallet and keys are in their rightful place, and not pickpocketed away sometime during the night. Chloe grins at her knowingly.

“Don’t look at me,” she says, with fake innocence. “Want me to walk you home, china?”

Nadine is no fool—she knows an invite when she sees one. Chloe is asking about much more than a simple trek down the street. A large part of Nadine wants to say yes. She ignores it with some difficulty and jerks her chin toward the back of the bar. “I think you’ve got your hands full enough as it is, Frazer.”

Chloe scowls, and looks over, to where Drake is slumped against an empty table in the corner, clearly drunk, his bruises looking worse than ever. He'll be sleeping there unless Chloe, who, since Drake doesn’t own a vehicle, is undoubtedly the one who brought him here, brings him home.

“Nate’s gonna kill me,” Chloe mutters. She looks back at Nadine hopefully. “Rain check, then?”

Nadine shrugs. “Sure. Need help getting him in your car?”

“Nah. Couple kicks, he’ll wake right up.” When she stands, she doesn’t wobble, looking rather sober and alert, so Nadine isn’t too worried about her driving. “This was nice. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“What, beat up random men and then discuss Hindu mythology?”

“Whatever works for you, love.” Chloe gives her that soft yet sharp grin again, and then, before Nadine can react, sways forward and kisses her softly on the cheek. “See you around.”

Nadine watches her go, then settles her tab with Victor and leaves. Outside, it’s dark, the streets quiet. As she walks to her vehicle, she thinks of the way her stomach flopped when Chloe kissed her cheek, just now, and how the sound of her laugh brought a tightness to her chest, and the memory of the warm, sweet taste of the _anzac_ biscuit she’d shared with her up on the roof, and wonders just what the hell she’s gotten herself into.

 

—

 

Five days a week, like clockwork, Nadine goes to Drake University’s T.E. Lawrence Hall to exercise at their state-of-the-art gymnasium and fitness center. The building is enormous, modern, and houses an Olympic sized swimming pool for laps, a well-stocked weight room for strength-training, a sparring room filled with training mats and boxing paraphernalia, and a half-mile looped indoor track for runners, among other things. The gym is free to employees, and the building so close to her office it leaves Nadine with no excuse not to use it once her shift is over, or during the weekend, when it’s much less crowded. Most days, some of her men will join her. Nadine prides herself in being well rounded—she runs, lifts weights, and spars on alternate days. Today is a sparring day.

She, Orca, and Orca's second, Knot, are jogging around the indoor track for a quick warm up when she hears a familiar, echoing laugh. She glances up, and focuses on the nearby climbing wall, stretching over fifty feet high, the top so steep it’s practically horizontal, the mottled grey surface dotted with multi-colored handholds and dangling ropes.

It’s Chloe. The climbing wall ranges in difficulty from beginner routes to expert, and Chloe is on the most difficult of them all, and she’s nearly at the top. About fifteen or twenty feet below her is Nathan Drake, who is similarly working his way up in a calm, practiced manner that speaks of years of climbing experience.

The section Chloe has reached juts almost ninety degrees from the wall, leaving her dangling just from her arms in a perch so precarious Nadine has to stop running, feeling dizzy, simply from watching. She stares in awe as Chloe swings her body back and forth to gather some momentum, then leaps—her entire body hanging in mid-air for a split second—and snatches at a tiny handhold a foot or so higher, crowing in success as she hauls herself upwards.

“Nice, Chloe!” calls Nathan, who does not look surprised at all by Chloe’s undeniable skill.

Nadine has to forcibly remind herself to breathe. Her mouth is open. She claps it shut. Orca has paused next to her and cranes his head back, hands on his sides.

“ _Jissus_ , that’s high,” he says, and whistles sharply in admiration.

At the sound, Chloe glances down and spots them. An enormous smile blossoms across her face. “China!” she cries in delight. Nadine’s heart seizes when she lets go with one hand—there’s a rope and a harness keeping her to the wall, but still, she’s so _high_ —and waves.

“Hey, Nadine!” shouts Nathan. While he still hasn’t reached where Chloe is, he’s gone an impressive distance nonetheless. Nadine herself has never considered even touching the rock wall.

Nadine waves back, just so Chloe will stop, and put her hand back where it’s safe, but then Chloe cups her palm by her mouth and calls out, “Wait a sec, I’ll be right down!” Before Nadine can protest, Chloe scampers up the rest of the sheer wall like it’s nothing, flitting nimbly from handhold to handhold like a squirrel, or a gray langur. She tags the brass bell at the very top, signaling a successful ascent, and then, absurdly, pulls her phone out of her back pocket and snaps a picture of herself. Nadine watches, appalled, as she then kicks off the wall, running her rope through the harness in her belt, turning a plummeting fall into a smooth, controlled descent all the way back to the floor. She is practiced and completely confident in her motions. Nadine has to close her mouth again. Watching a woman do something she very much knows how to do, something she is very good at, is undeniably sexy. This, however, is definitely not the time to delve into that.

Chloe’s sneakers hit the ground with a dull smack. She unhooks herself, steps out of the harness with a few flicks of her wrists, and heads toward Nadine with all the casualness of someone who didn’t just scale a massive climbing wall and make it look like it was nothing.

“Hi there,” Chloe nods to Knot. “Nice haircut,” she says to Orca, who grunts, glances at Nadine, and ambles off with Knot to continue their jog. “Hey there,” Chloe greets her warmly. Droplets of sweat decorate her throat from the mild exertion, and her hair is slightly mussed, but she doesn’t seem winded in the least. She stretches arms Nadine had previously considered thin, but now notices are hard and lean, thin, corded muscles shifting and pulling beneath brown skin. “I was hoping to run into you today.”

“You weren’t stuck at all,” Nadine abruptly realizes aloud. “On that building. Or the tree. You could’ve climbed down at any time, couldn’t you?”

Chloe’s expression freezes, caught, and then relaxes into a guilty smile. She raises her hands—callused and strong, Nadine knows now, from climbing. “Alright, you got me.”

“You…” Nadine starts, feeling many things at once. She wants to laugh and get angry. She wants to shout, or maybe just smile. “You _dickhead_.”

Chloe’s eyes go comically wide. She bursts into incredulous laughter. “ _What?_ ”

Now Nadine is laughing. “You heard me. You’re a dickhead.”

They’re still laughing when Nadine hears a distant thump, and sees Nathan has finished his climb as well, unhooked himself, and is walking toward them. For perhaps the first time, the friendly smile on his face doesn’t make her want to sneer at him.

“What? What’s so funny?” he asks, wanting to be part of the joke.

Catching her breath, Chloe lets out a few more chuckles and swipes fingers over her watery eyes. “Nothing, mate. Don’t worry about it.” She grins at Nadine in a gentle, conspiratorial way, as though they now have a secret between them.

Nathan looks dejected for a second before perking back up. “You here to try the wall, Nadine? I bet you could do it. Chloe and I can help you, if you want.”

“ _Eish_ ,” says Nadine, unable to even look at the wall without getting a headrush. “No thanks. My men and I here to spar. We’re just warming up.”

“We’ll walk with you to the mats,” Nathan offers. “We left our stuff there earlier.”    

Not minding the company, Nadine follows the track with them to the far end and passes through the double-doorway into the mat room. Inside, it smells of old sweat and feet, the usual, familiar scent of a well-used gym. Nadine glimpses Elena stretching out on a mat by the wall, looking like she is finishing up some yoga. Next to her is— _ugh_ —Drake, punching dejectedly at a hanging bag, looking a little more sorry for himself than usual. His shirt is dark with sweat, boxing gloves sloppily laced, the white ties dangling around his wrists. His black eye from the other night is no longer the size of an apple, but has deepened in color to a brownish-purple. He sees her and looks away with a frown, giving off a dark, unapproachable vibe. Nadine narrows her eyes at him but makes no comment. It looks like Drake is in a bad mood, or maybe just hungover. She can certainly imagine why.

“Ma’am,” says Orca, waiting for her with Knot at their usual mat. Of everyone currently in the room, the two men are the biggest and most physically intimidating. Nadine, however, is not at all worried about sparring with them. Orca has yet to win a solid round with her, though he’s come close a few times, and Knot telegraphs no matter how much she tries to coach him out of it. Still, they’re tenacious, and determined, and she values that in her team. They posture up, the two of them facing her, waiting for her signal.

"Wait, she’s gonna fight them both?” she hears Chloe murmur in the background, sounding surprised. Someone shushes her. Nadine’s not excited about an audience, but she knows it won’t affect her performance or distract her too badly, so she doesn’t protest when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Chloe and Nathan lean against the far wall to watch.

At her nod, her men come for the attack. She reads Knot easy as book and slides out of his thundering way, catching his thick ankle with her shin, tripping him up and stepping quickly away to dodge Orca’s longer reach as he jabs, jabs, and then hooks with a left. They pull their punches and kicks during sparring, as they always train bare-knuckled, but getting hit will still hurt, so Nadine is quick and brutal in her counterattack—she ducks down and darts forward when Orca tries for a front kick, catching him under his raised thigh with both arms. With a powerful surge of her whole body, she lifts him completely off his feet and throws him to the side. She spins to meet Knot who, predictably, is diving at her, trying for a tackle, and slams her palms to his shoulders, sprawling herself low, legs outstretched behind her, bearing down hard and sending him face-first into the mats.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, the same scenario plays out again and again. Knot and Orca try over and over to catch her in some sort of grappling hold, or come at her in a flurry of strikes, vying to knock her off balance. She bats them away like insects. The closest they come to victory is when Orca catches her in a sudden chokehold from behind while Knot tries for her front, but she solves that with a double-footed kick to Knot’s chest, shoving off of him hard enough she bowls Orca over and rolls herself out of his grasp.

She is barely sweating by the time she calls for their first break, which is for Orca and Knot’s benefit, not hers. Both men are gasping for breath. They retreat to their water bottles and towels, and Nadine does a few quick stretches to stay limber, and looks up to find Chloe approaching, an odd expression on her face. Her eyes are darker than usual, lids low, her plush bottom lip creased beneath the white, straight line of her teeth. If Nadine has to guess, she’d say Chloe looks a bit… piqued.

"Impressive, china,” Chloe husks out, and Nadine feels herself flush, acutely aware that while no one else is close enough to overhear them, they can still definitely see everything they’re doing. Chloe is visibly turned on, and is doing absolutely nothing to hide it, reaching boldly over to touch Nadine’s chin with forefinger and thumb, gently turning her head one way, then the other. “Wanted to ask how your lip’s doing. Looks okay.”

Nadine quells the simultaneous urge to both jerk away from her touch out of self-preservation, and push closer into the softness of her palm and bite into that delicate skin between thumb and fingers. “It’s fine,” she manages. “Teach me to pay more attention to who’s behind me during a barfight.”

“Say, I wanna see that move again,” says Chloe, sounding intrigued. She releases Nadine’s chin. “You know, the kick you used to knock that first guy out.” She looks around, then points at Nathan excitedly. “Do it to Nate.”

“What?” says Nathan, looking panicked even though he’s across the room from them. He casts about, presumably for his wife, who’s gone for a drink. “Mango! _Mango!_ ”

“Nate, calm down,” says Elena, walking back from the fountain, laughter in her voice. “She’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, mate,” Chloe coaxes. “Come on. We’re just having fun here.”

Nathan doesn’t look convinced. “But I don’t want to fight her.”

“It’s not a fight,” says Chloe. “It’s a demonstration. Just let her use you as an example.”

“That sounds worse!” Nathan whines.

"I’ll be gentle,” Nadine says, only half-joking. She won’t make Nathan fight her unless he really wants to. Clearly, he does not.

“Maybe you should pick on someone your own size,” says Drake, suddenly standing much too close to Nadine than she’d prefer. Nadine instinctively bristles. She very much dislikes people getting in her face. In her line of work, it’s happened far, far too often.

“Maybe you should back up, Drake,” she says, an edge to her tone.

Drake snorts, yanking the boxing gloves off and tossing them lazily to the ground. “Y’know, you talk a big game, show off with your two guys here, but back at the bar, one punch had you down just like the rest of us mere mortals.”

“It was a cheap shot and you know it, Sam,” scolds Chloe. Nadine’s lip throbs at the memory. It’d been a stupid mistake, letting herself get jumped like that. A hot ball of resentment forms in her stomach, fueled by her lingering embarrassment, and she swallows against cruel, biting words trying to crawl up her throat. Drake’s hit a sore spot, but hell if she will show him that.

“I dunno,” says Drake to Chloe. “It kinda sounds to me like she can’t take a punch.” He turns back to Nadine. “Don’t they teach you that in the Army?”    

Nadine clenches her fists. Another sore spot. Drake is pushing it. “They teach us lots of things. Mostly, how to stay out of prison.” It’s a low blow, for her, but Drake isn’t pulling his punches either, and her patience is waning.

“Yeah, you probably wouldn’t last a day in there,” Drake fires back. He’s smiling, and his tone is light, as though he’s only joking, but Nadine recognizes the feral look in his eyes. She’d seen it in the military, in her fellow soldiers, usually after a skirmish gone bad. Drake is upset about the other night. He’d gotten his arse kicked, and now he wanted to get his pride back, however he can. Probably, he didn’t even really want to pick a fight with her, personally. She is just the one standing in front of him now. “I had to fight tooth and nail just to eat. Just to have a place to sleep.”

“Sam,” says Elena with a note of warning. She seems to have also picked up on the souring air in the room and is doing her best to diffuse it.

But Nadine knows already—it feels like it did in the bar the other night. Tense. Still. A calm before an explosion. This is another fight that’s already started before a fist has been thrown.

“I’m not going to fight you, Drake,” says Nadine bluntly, trying to put Drake off before he can really get started. It’s futile, but she needs to try anyway.

“Fight? I didn’t say anything about fighting. I was just thinking we could have a little fun is all.”

“Hey, now, Sam,” says Chloe, sounding annoyed.

"Yeah, cut it out,” adds Nathan, looking so nervous he appears nauseous. Probably, he’s afraid Nadine is going to take this out on him later.

“No, come on,” says Drake in a cajoling tone. “Let’s do it. You think you’re so tough? Alright. You, versus me and my brother. If your guys are good as you think they are, you’ll be fine, right?”

Nadine is quiet. She doesn’t like anyone bad-mouthing her men. Knot and Orca are standing awkwardly off to the side. They look as though they want to interfere, but Nadine knows they won’t, not without her say-so.

“I bet,” says Drake, “you can’t last with me and Nathan for five minutes. I got a hundred bucks on it.”

“Leave it, Drake. I said I’m not going to fight you,” Nadine repeats, more firmly this time, for all the good that will do.

“No? Why you so scared now? Think you’ll lose? Against a night janitor and an Archeology teacher? Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.”

“I’ve got nothing to prove to you.”

“ _Two_ hundred dollars.”

Something inside Nadine snaps. She’s had enough with this man and his disdain, his rotten attitude. “Fine,” she says quietly. If this shuts him up, it will be worth it. She promises herself not to hurt either of them too badly, because she doesn’t want to frighten Elena or Chloe.

“Ma’am?” says Orca, looking unsure. Nadine shakes her head—she doesn’t need his help.

Nathan looks ill. “Oh god, are we actually doing this? Sam, you’re gonna get me killed.”

“Shut up, Nathan. Come on. We got this.”

With almost painful reluctance, Nathan finally steps forward, and they face each other on the mat, two Drakes versus Nadine. She looks between them appraisingly, unfazed. This is not the worst odds she’s faced before, not by far.

Drake takes a sloppy boxer’s stance, hands bare. Nadine refuses to underestimate him. Fifteen years in prison will create a reasonably competent fighter out of anyone. Nathan is another story. Though a great deal less enthused than his brother about the situation, he falls into a similar stance, but his is cleaner, more precise. Nadine can tell with a look that he is easily just as, if not more, capable than his brother.

It’s a bit of a surprise, that these Drakes know how to fight at all. Still, she has personally trained Orca and Knot for years, and they still cannot beat her together. She will not let two upstart brothers make a fool of her. Not today. Not ever.

To her surprise, it’s Nathan who rushes her first. She side-steps him in a practiced move, but when she tries to trip him up like she did Knot, he deftly avoids her extended shin and even hooks the toe of his shoe behind her knee in an attempt to throw her off balance. Nadine quickly shifts her weight and catches Nathan’s swinging elbow, barely avoiding a stunning blow to the temple, and uses his own momentum to pull him into a grappler’s hold, forcing his arm into a painful position. Before she can sink in deep, Drake comes hurtling forward, and she is forced to release Nathan and retreat, dodging and weaving. Almost immediately, Nathan rejoins his brother in the attack.

It’s all she can do to defend. She settles into it, confident they will tire at some point, and then she will be able to retaliate. Still, she can’t deny that their pace is kicking her pulse into high gear, that their fists are coming a bit closer to her than she’d like. More than once, she thinks she’s ducked enough to clear a blow and comes away with a glancing hit. They’re fast, these Drakes, and good.

But they’re not good enough.

At the first opening, she takes out Nathan. Nathan, by all evidence, is quicker and stronger than Drake, but does not want to fight her, which makes him falter and hesitate every time he throws a punch. If he were truly in this, she might have a problem.

Nathan, like Orca, tries for a kick. She can tell he expects her to copy her move from before—duck under, pick him up and throw him—and is ready to block her, so instead, she simply snatches his sneakered foot in her hand and kicks his other leg out from under him, hard. He goes down in an ungainly heap, biting out, “Shit!” when she stomps her foot inches from his head, signaling she could’ve crushed his throat if she were so inclined. He puts his hands up in surrender. “ _Mango!_ ” he wails again.

Confident he will stay put, Nadine focuses on Drake, whose cocky grin has waned in the past few minutes. Beads of sweat roll down his grizzly, unshaven cheeks, and his breath comes in a hoarse wheeze from lungs ruined by years of smoking. Alone now, his expression hardens. Nadine feels hers do the same. Drake won’t just give up—she’ll have to make him.

Drake charges. Nadine goes back on the defensive and waits for her opening. She misjudges a punch and gets clipped on the chin for her trouble. The tiny success floods Drake with adrenaline, and he comes at her like a storm. Annoyance flares into genuine anger as Nadine blocks and avoids his strikes. She needs to end this soon, before she loses her temper entirely.

Just then, Drake goes for a shoot, trying to catch her around the waist so he can throw and pin her to the floor. She spins away and grips him by the back of the neck and plows him, face-first, into the mats, burying a knee into his spine and holding him there as he strains and groans like a stuck pig, trying with all his might to escape her crushing grip. Her other leg pins the back of his knees, his arms trapped in front of him. She bears down harder, waiting for Drake to inevitably tire himself out. Her head is pounding, sweat crawling down her sides, and she is still so angry, so she gives him another fifteen seconds to make a fool of himself, and then eases up, letting him rise to his knees before picking him up around the hips and slamming him back down with a sharp, audible _smack!_ onto the mats. Drake gasps from the force of it, and she catches his arm in a hold and wrenches his wrist behind his back, forcing his arm almost to the nape of his neck.

Still, foolishly, infuriatingly, he doesn’t give up. A red haze falls over Nadine’s mind. On his arm, she squeezes tighter. Presses harder, until she’s sure it hurts. She _wants_ it to hurt.

“—kay! Okay!” shouts Drake, and Nadine blinks, realizing he’s probably been shouting for a few seconds, his body gone limp under her. She releases him at once. Drake clutches his abused shoulder dramatically with a pained grimace, though she’s sure she hasn’t broken it. “Jesus,” he pants, and lays there, unmoving.

Reality crashes back down on Nadine with almost sickening intensity. She is not overseas, fighting a war she cannot win. She is not play-fighting with her squadmates, each hiding a shadowed, shameful fury, a darkness boiling inside of them. She is not wrestling with an insurgent, scrabbling for her knife because it is too close to use a gun. She is not—

She is not—

At once she is terribly aware of their audience—Knot and Orca, faces cool and knowing, having served their own tours and witnessed their own atrocities; Nathan and Elena, their eyes wide, expressions stricken, innocent in this barbaric behavior; and Chloe, her mouth slightly parted, eyes blank and unreadable. Nadine literally cannot tell what she is thinking. There are others in the room, too, and only now does she realize how quiet it’s gotten, how every single person there is staring at them, at _her_ , standing above Drake, who still hasn’t gotten up.

Nadine says nothing, because there is nothing to say. There is no excuse for this. With brisk, almost desperate efficiency, she grabs her things and leaves. A cold sweat has broken out across her back and the tops of her shoulders. She feels as though she’s about to be violently ill. The anger is gone now, replaced with stomach-roiling regret, and horror. She feels stupid and immature for being baited into a fight so easily, for letting this happen. She is better than that. Brute force is for brutes. The last time she’d fought someone like that, with an intent to harm, had been in the army, when she’d gotten used to hurting others. When she’d nearly started to like it. She is _not_ that person anymore.

Or, at least, she thought so.

 

—

 

She is still upset, several days later—not with Nathan or Chloe or even Drake, but with herself. She had felt the change coming, the darkness creeping up, and she hadn’t told Drake to stop, or just walked away. Since the incident—Nadine refuses now to call it a fight—Chloe has texted her several times a day, apologizing for Drake’s inflammatory behavior, telling her everything was alright, and asking if she was okay. Nadine has not answered her yet. She isn’t sure if she will at all. At this point, she will understand if Nathan or his brother lodges a complaint against her with the University for unnecessary aggression or downright assault. It is something she could very well get fired for. She won’t fight it. She’ll accept the consequences of her actions, and go from there, as she always has.

Today is the day of Chloe’s fated lecture. Nadine has already decided she is not going to attend, but at the very last minute, she inexplicably changes her mind. The lecture is scheduled for 3PM, sharp. At 2:45PM, Nadine signs off her regular shift and puts herself down for the Khan Hall, where the lecture will take place. She is nearly late when she discovers the public parking lot nearest the hall is completely full. Luckily, she is able to find a space for staff members several buildings down, and walks back.

Inside the hall, it’s crowded, hot, and stuffy. It is also very loud. It takes some time to reach the lecture room proper, and Nadine has to physically stop and take in the scene before her. The massive room is filled to capacity. Some people are even standing, far in the back, which, normally, is against protocol. In her six years at the University, Nadine has never seen it so packed, and they have had more than their fair share of renowned speakers and guest lecturers. It makes the security guard in her sweat—so many people, too many to properly vet or check for weapons—but she shakes her head, and chases those thoughts away. Her team is one of the best. They’ve swept the entire building, top to bottom, multiple times before today. There is arguably no safer place on campus at the moment. Chloe’s presentation will not be interrupted. Not if Nadine has anything to say about it.

Purposefully, she stations herself out of sight of the stage, but where she can see and listen with ease. She is not quite ready to face Chloe yet after the ugliness she’d shown at the gym. What must Chloe think of her now, she wonders, and sweats with dread. Is she scared of her? Disgusted? Her thoughts spiral into a murky, tangled mess, and she forces herself to stop thinking of it, returning to the here and now.

Many of those in the crowd appear to be accomplished professors or researchers from Drake as well as other well-known Universities. Nathan is there with Elena, as is Victor. Nadine recognizes many other professors from other campus events and gatherings. It seems Chloe is much more famous, much more renowned than Nadine has ever imagined. She wonders why Chloe’s never mentioned it, or flouted her accomplishments, those accreditations Nadine herself had questioned on the very first day they’d properly met. It makes her feel as though she’s been caught off-balance, like when she’d seen Chloe clambering up the climbing wall after assuming she was just a headstrong daredevil out for a laugh, getting stuck on buildings and in trees like a fool. But, no, this woman isn’t just some halfwit slacker looking for an easy paycheck. She is an accomplished researcher, a driven cultural anthropologist, and—Nadine soon learns, only a minute or two later—a _marvelous_ speaker.

Hearing Chloe lecture is, in a word, an _experience_. When she first walks out, the entire hall erupts in applause, which Chloe acknowledges with a mere flick of her hand before immediately jumping headfirst into describing the trials and tribulations of her newest project and obsession; the lost ancient Indian Empire of Hoysala, and its famed capital cities of Belur and Halebidu. Projected on the enormous screen behind her, a slideshow begins of ruins engulfed in a vibrant green jungle, a golden token carved with an axe, bow, and trident, centered with the elephant-headed Hindu god, Ganesh, and deciphered pages of crumbling manuscripts from which Chloe’s gleaned the brunt of her information. Even when she begins to discuss the possibility of a priceless artifact called the Tusk of Ganesh, an object that seems almost mythical in nature, she doesn’t seem to lose her audience. She has captured them all.

From her very first word, she is unrepentant in her passion. Her general immaturity and flirtatiousness aside, Nadine at last fully grasps just how accomplished, how intelligent this woman pacing before her actually is. Listening to her speak, watching how her entire body seems possessed with a frenzied energy, a furious thirst for knowledge… It… well, it makes Nadine _wet_ , which is _ridiculous_. Not to mention utterly inappropriate, given their recent state of affairs. What such a woman would want with someone like her is beyond Nadine. She feels ashamed of herself, and isn't sure exactly why.

Still, she cannot find it in herself to leave before Chloe is done, though every part of her wants to slink into the shadows, and disappear back to her office. No, she stays, and listens, and is moved, yet trapped in place, helpless to escape this old, mystical tale being narrated to her. For a while, she almost feels like she is there, in that lost, fantastical city.

The applause afterwards is thunderous, deafening. There is a standing ovation. In their haste to speak with her, several professors crowd the stage, questions at the ready. Unfazed, Chloe just gives the roaring room a proud nod in thanks and grins amicably, sweeping her eyes across the audience. By sheer luck alone, their eyes meet. Nadine feels a fierce charge go through her, like she’s been struck by lightning. Chloe looks directly at her, a slow smile edging onto her face even as professors and researchers clamor all around her. Unable to part the sea of bodies between them, Chloe holds up a single finger, and Nadine understands.

 _Wait_ , Chloe is saying. The _please_ goes unsaid.

Nadine wishes she could deny her.

She waits.

 

—

 

“So?” Chloe asks, nearly an hour later, after shaking lots of hands and taking pictures with at least a dozen noteworthy professors. She still looks a bit winded from speaking for almost two hours straight—it had felt like only a fraction of the time, listening to her—but exhilarated, her eyes bright with triumph. “What did you think? Not bad? Or did I bore you to death?”

“No,” says Nadine quickly. “It—you were good. Amazing. I liked it alot.”

“You did?” Chloe teases. There is a flush to her cheeks that becomes her. Seeing her so pleased, so confident in herself… It’s undeniably sexy. Chloe moves a little closer, until they’re standing just beside one another. Nadine has opened a locked storage room to wait in peace for Chloe to finish her obligations to her adoring crowd, and now they are finally alone. At the thought, she feels a tingle in her stomach that spreads slowly down her arms and legs. It settles in her chest and grows warm. She looks away and tries to get a handle on her nerves.

“Ja.”

“Did you learn something?” Chloe asks, her accent gone throaty and low.

Nadine bites her lip, releases it. “Maybe.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Maybe?” She steps closer. “Want to earn some extra credit?”

A wave of heat travels through Nadine. She swallows thickly, and tamps it down. Much as she’d like, this is not the time. “Listen,” she says quietly. “About the other day. I—”

“Nadine, look, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Chloe cuts her off. Her eyes are soft and caring and Nadine almost can’t stand it, having them turned on her like that, when she doesn’t deserve it.

“Then—then will you tell Nathan I’m sorry?” she asks. “I—I don’t think he’ll want to see me anytime soon.”

“Listen. Whoever that was the other day,” says Chloe in a gentle voice, “it wasn’t you, love. It was whoever you had to be, back then. I know it. You know it.”

Nadine has to look away. She lets out a long, shaky breath. She will not cry in front of Chloe Frazer. The words mean more than she could ever say. “Thanks,” she practically whispers.

“Can I…” Chloe starts, then falters, something Nadine has never seen her do. To see it so soon after her brazen lecturing is off-putting. “Don’t suppose I can give you a hug, can I?”

Nadine laughs wetly. “Ja. If you like.”

“Oh, I like.” Chloe steps forward, looping her arms under Nadine’s, and crosses them over her back, holding her tightly. It brings a lump to Nadine’s throat. She honestly can’t remember the last time she was hugged by someone— _anyone_. It feels absurdly good. She needed it. She hugs Chloe back, tightly.

There is a sudden, jarring knock on the door. They jerk apart just as it opens.

It’s Nathan, looking frumpled and harried as always. “Sorry,” he says, sounding as though he genuinely is. “Hey, Nadine. There’s still a lot of people who want to talk to you, Chloe, you really should go back inside. Sorry, really.”

Chloe hesitates. She seems torn, though to further her career, there’s no question she should return to the impatient crowd. Nadine makes it easy for her.

“I should be going anyways.” She steps back, puts her hands into her pockets. She’s able to stand a bit taller now, her shoulders straighter, not so weighed down by her guilt. “That was a great lecture, Frazer. I can see why you’re so popular.” On a whim, she puts out her hand for a friendly, congratulatory shake. Chloe slips her hand into hers and just holds it, gently, and then smiles at her.

“How ‘bout a celebratory photo?”

Nadine has to laugh. Chloe’s been trying so hard for a picture with her. Maybe it’s time she finally lets her have one. She rolls her eyes, just to make sure Chloe knows how silly she thinks this is. “Fine.”

In a flash, Chloe’s phone is in her hand. She turns it toward them and puts her face close to Nadine’s and gives the camera a big smile. Nadine watches Chloe in the tiny screen—she looks happy and young and unspeakably beautiful.

“Thanks, love,” says Chloe, and Nadine realizes she’s taken the picture already, and hopes she didn’t look too much of a fool in it, staring longingly at Chloe. Chloe doesn’t move away afterwards; in fact, she moves closer, and then—Nadine’s heart stutters in her chest—she kisses Nadine on the cheek, and whispers in her ear, “Come find me later?” With that, she slips away and out the door before Nadine can come up with a proper answer.

She is left with Nathan, who appears amicable as ever, despite having just haplessly witnessed the kiss, and the heavy looks between her and Chloe. She’d be surprised if he didn’t know what was going on between them. He holds the door for her in a friendly way, though he is still wearing a fading bruise on his cheek that she’d given him, that day in the gym.

“Nathan,” she says, before he can speak, or leave. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. I was rough with you and your brother, more than I should’ve been. It was unprofessional and uncalled for, and I’m sorry. If—if you brother wants, I’ll apologize to him, too.” She wants to look away, wants to let the shame fill her, but Chloe is right. That wasn’t her. This, here, now, is. And Nadine Ross owns up to her mistakes.

“Come on, Nadine,” Nathan says, shaking his head. “I know my brother can be an ass sometimes.” She can hear the smile in his voice already, which is odd, considering what she’d done to him back at the gym. He should be terrified of her, or at least, disgusted. When she meets his eyes, however, he looks at her as he always has—with respect, admiration, and kindness. “Sam’s fine. I mean, all of us, we have a point, right? A line that shouldn’t get crossed. I get it. He’s not here to apologize, so I’ll say it for him—sorry that had to happen like that. But you’re good with me, alright? And, actually, this is a weird segue here but bear with me—Elena wanted me to invite you over for dinner next week. We’re trying to get Chloe to come too. Maybe have a barbecue? Does that sound like something you’d wanna do?”

And Nadine, who, in any other circumstances would not be caught dead at a Drake’s barbecue, no matter who is there, laughs, and accepts.

 

—

          

It’s late, when she finally leaves campus. Signing herself onto the lecture hall shift means Nadine must help with final security sweeps through the rooms and locking down the building only after everyone else has left. She hears something about the professors heading as a group downtown for dinner and drinks and knows Chloe will be at the epicenter of their attention for the rest of the evening. Resolute in keeping to her schedule, she finishes her shift by 7:30PM, then goes to the gym for an hour and a half for her customary workout. She’s tired by the time she’s finished, emotionally drained by a day that’s felt very, very long.

It’s only as she’s driving to her apartment across town that she remembers what Chloe whispered to her, moments after kissing her on the cheek.

_Come find me later?_

Just remembering the words sends a warm pang through her chest, followed by a deep, intense yearning. She wants to see Chloe, she realizes. Rather than bury the feeling, or ignore it, she listens, and turns her vehicle around to drive back to campus, but this late, the lots are mostly empty, and she can’t spot Chloe’s red 4x4 anywhere. She makes a pass downtown, by the bars and restaurants—checking Victor’s as well—but doesn't see Chloe’s jeep or the woman’s black hair or her bright red shirt anywhere. She is not here.

_Come find me later?_

At a loss, she pulls out her phone, thinking of texting her, but a sudden bout of nerves keeps her from actually sending one. Just what is she supposed to say, exactly? With a cringe, she imagines writing, _Please tell me where you are, because I need to see you?_ It seems blunt, and terribly personal. Just thinking it makes her feel vulnerable and shy. How do people do this on a regular basis?

On a whim, she idly taps into her contact list, and then again on Chloe’s name, which is still decorated with red heart emojis, as she’s never deleted them. Her breath catches, and she goes still. Under Chloe’s name and number, there is an address, already entered, of an apartment about ten minutes downtown.

_Come find me later?_

A grin nudges the side of her mouth. How long has she had this in her phone, she wonders. Did Chloe put it in the same day she’d swiped her phone for the first time, or did she steal it again at a later date—possibly even today, maybe, when they were hugging—and do it then? The address is an unspoken, unarguable invitation, and Nadine is ready, at last, to take it.

The apartment is not hard to find, but once she is there, standing on the sidewalk, facing the brick and stone building and its intercom system littered with scratched out and rewritten names and room numbers, she wavers. What is she doing here, exactly? What does she expect to happen? She has an idea of what she wants, and hopes, but the rest will be up to Chloe. Really all it needs is for Nadine to take this first, big step.

She thinks of Chloe up there on that stage, earlier today, ignoring the podium so many other lecturers hide behind, or grip as a lifeline. All confidence, she’d swaggered from one end of the stage to the other, gesturing every so often at the screen behind her, though she’d barely taken the time to consult her notes or read from a prepared script. She’d just talked, and talked, and talked. And Nadine had listened, and learned, and fallen just a bit more in love with her than before.

She hits the buzzer for C. Frazer.

Chloe’s tired voice bursts through a haze of static. “I didn’t order anything, but thanks for try—”

“It’s me,” Nadine interrupts, feeling foolish already. Chloe isn’t expecting her at all. She’s misread everything. “Sorry, I’ll just—”

“Nadine?” Through the static, she hears a clatter, as though Chloe’s dropped something. “Shit—ah—I’ll ring you up. Or—do you want me to come out, and we can go somewhere?”

Nadine takes a moment to appreciate that Chloe is giving her an easy way to back out of this mess without losing too much of her pride. Then she takes one moment more to acknowledge just how much she does not want to back out, pride be damned. She presses the intercom button again. “Let me up.”

A loud buzz is her answer.

Chloe is four floors up. She answers the door at a single knock. She’s in shorts and an old t-shirt, her face bare of makeup, long black hair loose and damp from a shower. There are tiny crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Barefoot, she’s shorter than Nadine by an inch. She’s so beautiful.

“Hi,” Nadine says.

“Hi,” replies Chloe, her eyes warm and her voice smoky. She looks faintly weary, probably from her busy afternoon and evening—the lecture, and whatever came after. Probably a lot of people-pleasing and hand-shaking. She does look happy to see Nadine, though, which gives her courage. “Come in.”

Chloe’s apartment is sparse, but somehow homey. It smells of musky incense and a subtle flowery perfume. There are knick-knacks scattered through the rooms, but Nadine soon realizes they’re actually old, expensive artifacts, like the instruments from Chloe’s botched first class. To have such priceless works lying carelessly about seems perfectly Chloe.

“Sorry for the surprise,” says Nadine. “I should’ve texted first.”

“I like surprises,” Chloe replies lightly.

“You didn’t think I’d show, did you?” Nadine has to ask.

“On the contrary,” says Chloe. “I knew you’d want to hear more about the intriguing Hoysala Empire.” A hungry, knowing look alights in her eyes. “Or did you have something else in mind, maybe?”

Nadine just smiles at her, and, with great intensity, looks her slowly up and down. By the time she’s reached Chloe’s red-painted toenails and is working her way back up, a field of goosebumps litter the skin of Chloe’s thighs, and beneath the soft cotton of her shirt, her nipples are hard. Nadine feels a strong, low pulse of arousal, her eyes trailing from Chloe’s breasts to her flushed throat, her pulse visibly beating in the delicate hollow there, then up to her clenching jaw. Their eyes meet. Nadine steps closer, and very deliberately reaches forward and cups her palm over Chloe’s warm hip, giving it a tender squeeze as she leans forward. Chloe’s breath comes fast and hot against her parted lips.

“Nadine,” she whispers, and instead of answering her in kind, Nadine kisses her.

Chloe sighs against her mouth, and seems to fall against her, pressing their fronts together so Nadine can feel the push of her breasts and the hard nudge of her hip bones meeting her own. A callused hand rests on her cheek and guides her mouth to a different angle, so Chloe can kiss her deeper. Nadine's split lip, nearly healed by now, aches deeply. The hand on her face trails back, into her hair, scratching pleasantly at her scalp. Chloe’s other hand finds a place at her belt, gripping the black leather tightly, as if to make sure Nadine will not try to pull away. Her own hands, Nadine rests on the lower slope of Chloe’s back, on the upper curve of her arse. Chloe is warm and solid and delicious in her arms. It feels absurdly good to hold her like this, and kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her.

For a while, she’s lost in it. Their hands wander. Fingers curl into the lapels of Nadine’s light jacket, and she grunts in surprise when Chloe starts yanking at it, as though in a fever, then realizes she is merely trying to steer her backwards, towards the couch. She lets Chloe tug at her a bit longer, liking the small growls of frustration it earns when Chloe is unable to move her stolid body, grinning at her through their kiss, and only then acquiesces.

They sink to the couch together. It’s difficult, finding time to breathe between the hard flicks of Chloe’s tongue and the wet catch of her lips, and a wave of dizziness snatches the breath from her. Chloe pushes Nadine hard against the back of the couch and climbs onto her lap, kissing her with an aggressive, singular purpose. It makes Nadine feel she is the only one in the world, and also like she is about to be eaten alive. Her skin feels tight all over, buzzing with anticipation. Her nipples are hard, straining against her clothing. She’s wet again. She squeezes at the hard points of Chloe’s hipbones to try and distract herself from it, but the smoky moan she gets in return only makes it worse.

Chloe is tugging at her jacket again. Nadine realizes she wants it off now, and obliges, fumbling about without separating their mouths for too long until it’s gone, leaving herself in a soft, cotton t-shirt, the sleeves riding up her flexing arms. Chloe abandons her mouth after a playful bite of her lips that leaves the mostly-healed split throbbing furiously, and kisses her way down Nadine’s bare neck until she reaches blue cloth and stops. Hazily, Nadine realizes the kisses are not returning, and opens her eyes. Chloe is looking with great interest at the tattoos on her biceps, pushing her sleeves up to bare her inked, muscular shoulders, which are nearly always hidden by her clothing.

“Wow,” she breathes out, and gently takes Nadine by the forearm so she can turn her arm to see the underside.

Nadine is quiet. She lets Chloe look her over. A curious finger traces the lettering at her deltoid, platoon and squad numbers, the scattered flowers that represent her fallen comrades, and her favorite animals, a cobra, twined around her triceps, and a fierce looking monkey on her opposite. Marveling at the artwork, Chloe gives both her arms an appreciative squeeze, her breath stuttering when Nadine flexes for her, tendons bulging. “Can I take your shirt off?” she rushes out, sounding faintly desperate. Nadine resists a chuckle, and nods. She helps Chloe gather the hem of her shirt at her waist and pull it off over her head, leaving her in bra, sports watch, and pants.

Again, Chloe stops. She isn’t looking at the tattoos now, which trail over Nadine’s shoulders to her upper back, but the pale-colored scars, flecked across Nadine’s torso from the shrapnel IED that ended her military career. The three bullet marks are like bright stars against her brown skin. Chloe touches each very gently, as if in reverence, then ducks down and kisses them, one by one. Nadine shudders, hard, and very nearly moans aloud, feeling overcome. Once she’s finished—it takes some time, and Nadine is trembling by the time she’s reached the last—Chloe rises back up and kisses her on the mouth, deeply, and when she pulls away, Nadine makes a weak sound of protest.

But Chloe is just taking her own shirt off. Beneath, she is completely bare. Her breasts are full and her nipples are hard. Nadine wants badly to run her hands over the brown expanse of her torso, but Chloe is already ducking back in to kiss feverishly at her mouth and neck, pressing down on top of her until they’re grinding hard against each other. A loud groan escapes Nadine’s throat. She feels drunk, heady. But grounded. This is happening. It’s not a dream.

“Have you ever worn a strap on before?” Chloe asks all of a sudden in a breathy voice.

Nadine balks, flushing up to her ears. “What?”

“Have you…” drawls Chloe, slowly kissing her way down and then back up Nadine’s body, trailing between her breasts, then up her sternum, pausing to dip into the hollow of her throat to finish at her mouth, “ever… worn… a strap on?”

She’s breathless and gasping by the time Chloe pulls away. “Why?” She can feel Chloe’s resulting grin flex against her cheek.

“Because I have one in my closet, and I _really_ want you to fuck me with it.”

Nadine's mouth goes dry. She imagines it—thrusting hard into Chloe, over and over, watching her writhe and squirm under her, over her, both hands free to do as she pleases… “Ok,” she says faintly. “I can—I mean, I’ve worn one.”

Chloe shivers against her. “Much as I’d love to stay here,” she says, punctuating it with a hard, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling briefly with Nadine’s, “that means we have to move.”

After a moment of contemplation, Nadine hefts Chloe under the thighs and stands. Chloe yelps, the shrill cry devolving into a shuddering moan. She heavy in a pleasant, real way, but Nadine holds her aloft easily, arms folded under her arse, Chloe clinging to her front with wrists threaded around her neck. They find the bedroom by process of elimination, stumbling through doorways until Nadine finds one with a bed in it.

It’s tempting to toss Chloe onto the bed, just to hear her shriek and see how she’ll retaliate, but Nadine lowers her carefully to the mattress instead, and then stands, only to discover her belt and fly have both been undone without her knowledge, hanging open to bare her flat, muscled abdomen and the hem of her underwear. She’ll be very surprised if her phone hasn’t also been swiped out from under her nose as well, and pats the back pocket of her pants to confirm her suspicions. Smirking from the bed, Chloe sits up, completely unashamed in her half-nakedness.

"I’ll give it back to you after, promise.”

“Worried we’ll be interrupted, Frazer?”

“Not anymore, I’m not.” Chloe stands, and pulls her shorts off, leaving herself in a clinging pair of white panties. “Just a sec.” The look she gives Nadine is filled with promise, and hunger. She crosses over to the nearby closet and starts rummaging through the mess inside.

Nadine takes the brief respite to kick her trousers the rest of the way down, then sits on the bed to undo her shoelaces. Once they’re off, she stands and sheds shoes and pants, just as Chloe returns. Chloe takes one look at her in her lady-briefs and makes a noise like she’s come on the spot. Nadine fights a smirk of her own at the telling sound. Chloe goes still and closes her eyes, as though attempting to compose herself.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “I swear I’m usually much more eloquent. But you are just…” She trails off. “ _Jesus_.”

Trying to help, Nadine takes the strap on dangling in her hand and works out how to put it on, shucking her briefs along the way. The harness is more like a sturdy pair of underwear, and sits firm and comfortable on her hips. It’s big, bigger than Nadine would ever want inside herself, but if it’s what Chloe wants, then Nadine will give it to her, and then some. It looks a bit absurd, jutting up from her crotch like that, but when she glances up at Chloe, her eager, deliriously aroused expression whisks away the last of her self-consciousness.

The second the strap on is secured properly, Chloe is on her, kissing her in a fury. Her underwear is gone, and her pubic hair, trimmed into a neat, dark triangle, is visibly wet, pink inner folds parted and glistening, even her inner thighs gleaming in the light. Ganesh has made an appearance on her bare hip, flanked by faded silver stretch marks, and Nadine wonders, absurdly, if it’s considered offensive to have sex with a depiction of a Hindu god present. But then Chloe grabs her by the shaft, fingers grasping at the hard give of the silicone, squeezing so tightly Nadine can almost _feel_ it. Chloe yanks, Nadine _erks_ , and they tumble to the bed in a pile.

“I like to be on top,” Chloe husks in her ear, “but I think I’m going to make an exception for you.” Still gripping Nadine by the strap on, she lies on her back, shoulders propped by her pillows, spreads her legs, and urges Nadine forward, guiding her inside. Nadine feels a subtle bump of pressure as they meet, and a slick, dragging resistance as she begins to slide in. Chloe closes her eyes and purrs deep in her throat. Nadine braces herself on her arms so she can look down and watch the strap on slowly disappear between moist pink folds. She’s breathless by the time the front of her thighs meet the sweaty backs of Chloe’s. She stays there, her body held rigid, and waits several moments for Chloe to adjust to the size.

“Alright?” she asks shakily, and Chloe chuckles against her, and kisses her lazily.

“More than alright,” she growls, as Nadine rolls her hips back and forth, slowly. The growl becomes a ragged snarl as Nadine begins to thrust with earnest. Almost immediately, her abdomen in on fire from the unfamiliar motions, but that only makes her want to fuck Chloe harder, faster. She sits up on her knees for better leverage and holds Chloe by the hips to encourage her to move back against her. Breasts bouncing, Chloe curls her arms above her head and moans, spine arching, her torso shining with a light sheen of sweat. Nadine pauses to lick a quick stripe across her rippling belly, then begins thrusting again with renewed fervor, her lips finding a puckered pink nipple to taste.

" _Oh_ ," says Chloe, her eyes half-shut as she watches Nadine loom over her. She is so wet Nadine can hear it with every thrust of her hips. Chloe holds nothing back, unabashed in her naked passion—she spreads her legs as far as they’ll go, encouraging Nadine to ram into her as hard as she can. When that’s not hard enough, she digs her nails into Nadine’s flexing arse and urges her deeper. Nadine gasps for breath, the temperature in the room soaring, sweat dripping off her chin to patter on Chloe’s chest. Her head is spinning. She’s never come just from fucking someone with a strap on before. Chloe, expression dazed, mouth open, laps at her jaw with a soft tongue, chasing the salty sweat droplets rolling down from her temples.

When Chloe comes, only a few minutes later, it’s loud and unrestrained, as she often is. She digs her nails so hard it hurts into whatever parts of Nadine she can reach—her arse and left shoulder—back bowing, legs jerking. She lets out a long, drawn out, “ _Ohhhhhhhh_ …” and goes perfectly still for almost ten seconds, tiny shudders visibly wracking through her body. Then she melts back onto the bed, boneless and lazy and sated, an expression of utter contentment on her face.

Nadine withdraws and rolls onto her back, her entire body clenched tight. She feels inches from release, sucking in harsh breaths, trying to calm her racing heart, but she doesn’t want to hurt Chloe by continuing to fuck her when she’s become too sensitive for contact. Next to her, Chloe is moaning faintly and incoherently, her head turned to the side, hands resting limply on her sweat-dotted stomach.

“Shit,” Chloe whispers, and squirms her hips, as though testing a very sore limb. Her legs, splayed apart with knees half bent, slowly draw up so she can sit properly, eyes blinking dazedly. “Oh, that was good.”

Nadine is quiet, trying to catch her breath. She’s never been one to have a big ego in bed, but hearing that still feels nice. When Chloe turns that fond smile to her, she feels even better, though still dangerously close to going off like a rocket. She starts to count down from thirty, hoping that will work.

“Are you good to go?” Chloe asks. Nadine’s head is still spinning, so she’s not sure what Chloe’s asking her—good to go? Go where? Does Chloe want her to leave already? Or does she mean more sex?

“Um,” she manages, trying not to sound as wrecked as she really is. “Ja?”

Apparently, that’s the correct answer, because she blinks, and then Chloe is leaning over her, and she’s—Nadine has worn a strap on before, but nobody’s ever done _this—_ this being Chloe, her red, swollen lips wrapped around the wet strap on, her fist squeezed around the base of it, looking up at her daringly through her lashes, eyes dark with intent, her tongue tracing the subtle curve of the shaft, the shaft that was just inside her a minute ago—and—

 Just the visual of it is more than enough to send Nadine hurtling toward an awkwardly timed orgasm, never mind the sound Chloe’s mouth makes on the wet silicone, or the subtle push and pull on her clit as Chloe bobs her head up and down in her lap, or the fluttery brush of her loose, silky black hair against her tensed thighs.

Chloe is still sucking at her when she stirs, half-drowned by the tumultuous wave of her orgasm. Already, the tingle of arousal is back, growing stronger by the second.

“Chloe,” she grits out.

At her warning tone, Chloe chuckles low and growly, and Nadine feels that too. Chloe pulls her mouth from the strap on but keeps her fist stroking lightly as she says, “I think that’s the first time you’ve actually said my name, china.” She sounds delighted, and wickedly cruel.

“I’ll call you whatever you want, just please stop teasing me,” Nadine begs. She almost whines when Chloe suddenly sits up and removes her hand from the wet shaft, then bites back a choke of disbelief, because Chloe is turning herself around so her back is to Nadine and straddling her at the hips. Nadine can see with distinct clarity as Chloe holds the strap on upright with one hand and lowers herself onto it, groaning in the back of her throat as she sinks down, down, down, until she is sitting flush in Nadine’s warm, sweaty lap, the entire strap on piercing her, every inch. Then, slowly at first, bracing her hands on Nadine's thighs, she rises and falls against the shaft, even adding a swirl to her hips at the bottom, her head hanging forward, breathing deeply, concentrated in her efforts. Nadine can’t look away. Chloe’s sweaty back gleams golden brown in the dim light, her round arse clapping down against Nadine's lower stomach with each bounce. The soft smack of impact sends pulses of pleasure to her clit, and it’s all she can do to lie there stiffly and not just come on the spot.

Then Chloe tilts her head, and glances at her over her shoulder. Her hair hides most of her face, but what Nadine can see appears smug and redolent and challenging. Chloe starts to move faster. Nadine gasps, and grips her by the hips to try and slow her down. She’s already dangerously close to coming again. Chloe whines, her head falling forward once more, eyes closed. She puts her hands over Nadine’s on her hips and together they work themselves into a ragged, brutal rhythm that leaves them crying out at the end of each breath.

Somehow Nadine finds the strength to start thrusting up into Chloe every time Chloe bears down. Chloe moans shrilly at the first thrust, and by the second, begins a breathy parade of “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Nadine plants her feet so she can put a bit more force into the upward motion, until she’s fucking hard up into Chloe, feeling her body quaking atop her, beneath the palms of her hands. She moves one from Chloe's flexing hip to the plush of her arse, squeezing hard at one of her cheeks.

Chloe gives one final, “Fuck!” and then collapses forward, onto her front, sprawled between Nadine's shins. She yowls in pleasure when the strap on bends accommodatingly, digging into her back wall. When the angle becomes too much, the strap on pops free with a faint wet sound, the dark silicone glistening lewdly in the faint light of the bedroom.

Shakily, Nadine sits up and then gets to her knees on the mattress, walking herself to Chloe’s swaying hips and splayed legs. She’s reasonably sure Chloe hasn’t come yet, and once more takes a firm grip of her hips, hauling them up so her bottom half is propped on her knees. She drops a kiss at the very top of Chloe’s arse, right by the dimples at the bottom of her spine. Chloe cries out as though burned, but doesn’t flinch away. Rather, she stirs and wavers backwards, closer to Nadine, who adjusts her hold on Chloe’s hips before sliding the strap on back inside. Their thighs press, Chloe’s backs to Nadine’s front, and then Nadine starts to fuck her.

This time, though her brain tells her it should not be possible, she feels it when Chloe comes—the tremulous squeeze of her velvety hot insides, the flutter of soaked inner muscles—and only a second or two later, Nadine is gone, too. She sucks in a breath and then holds it, her upper half frozen in place while her hips continue to pump sporadically into Chloe’s wet warmth. Finally, the seizing stops, and she slumps down over Chloe’s hot, sweaty back, the two of them unable to speak or move or do much more than breathe.

Nadine is sure they’re done. It’s been a long day, and her body is drained, muscles aching. Sleep is begging to take over. But then Chloe pulls off of her, practically rips the strap on harness from her hips, and buries her face between her legs with a voracious appetite. Nadine bites back a howl, and then Chloe’s hips are there, hovering by her head, and all she has to do is seize and drag them closer so she can pull down and part warm, sticky thighs for her own feast. Chloe’s taste is strong and musky and her folds are soaked and swollen. Nadine’s chin is dripping after only a few licks. She finds Chloe’s clit and suckles it, swirling her tongue over and around it, trying to ignore the knees clamping around her head, and the hot, wicked mouth working between her own legs.

It's only a matter of minutes before she comes. Even after that, they are not done, and the next few hours become a haze of pleasure and heat and moans.

 

—

 

Afterwards, exhausted as they are, they lay in bed and talk. Chloe tells Nadine about her father, a man she rarely saw and practically never knew, who’d died before she’d gotten a chance to love him. She talks about Australia, and her mother, and how she met Nathan and became friends with him. She talks about her research and her drive to show the world that not all legends or myths are untrue. She is going to prove everyone wrong.

Nadine tells her about South Africa, and her childhood there. She tells her about the military, the good and the bad, and points to her scars and describes how she got each one. She tells her about Shoreline, and what she’s built over the years, and how sometimes, she is worried she will never be able to become a normal civilian, though she's resolved to give it her best.

Chloe listens, and plays with her hair and rolls over to press her face to Nadine’s scarred collarbone, kissing her there drowsily.

“We should go on an adventure. You and me,” she murmurs, half-asleep.

“Me?” says Nadine, incredulous. “I’m the most boring person you’ve probably ever met. You don’t want to go anywhere with me. I don’t even like it when someone calls out and changes the schedule on me. I can’t handle that sort of stuff.” It’s true, in a way. Nadine preferred order, and rules. Chloe couldn’t be more different than her in that respect.

“I dunno,” says Chloe, looking her over appraisingly. “I think you’d surprise yourself with what you can do.” A self-satisfied smirk winds its way onto her face, and she slumps against Nadine’s shoulder, trying for a kiss but losing momentum halfway through, lips pursed at nothing. She’s moments from passing out.

“I can leave, if you like,” Nadine offers. She wants to stay, but this is not her apartment. It’s Chloe’s choice whether she sleeps over or not.

“Shhhhh…” says Chloe, and then promptly falls asleep with her mouth open, snoring delicately. Nadine stays up a bit longer, focusing on the heavy, satisfied hum coursing through her body, and the weight of Chloe’s body draped against her side. She’d thought she knew what happiness was, before, in her life and her job, but this feeling, here and now— _this_ is happiness. At last, she’s found it.

 

—

 

She wakes automatically at 5AM, even without an alarm. It’s a workday, so while she can go in late if necessary, she will still need to eventually show up. Her body, well-rested from even five hours sleep, feels keyed up and jittery. She looks down, at Chloe, naked and clinging to her side in the exact same position she’d fallen asleep in last night, and smiles fondly at her. Feeling slightly sorry, she begins to carefully extricate herself. She is nearing success when a sudden hand clutches her arm in a fierce grip.

“ _No, no, no_ ,” Chloe whines, eyes pinched shut, nose scrunched in displeasure. “Why are you moving? It’s—” she peeks at the clock on the nightstand “—Christ, it’s five, are you serious? Go back to sleep.”

“I’m going for a run,” says Nadine, trying to keep her voice down. The decision is sort of a jump one, but now that she’s awake, she feels the need to work off some of this building energy, since Chloe appears far more intent on getting more sleep rather than any another activity.

“Oh.” Chloe smacks her lips a few times. “A run. Alright. If you need clothes…” She waves a lazy hand towards her dresser, by the closet. “Top drawer.”

“Thanks.” Nadine rifles through it, finds a pair of shorts and a shirt that will work, and puts them on, though she’d really rather shower first. Still, if she doesn’t do this now, she never will. She sits on the bed to tie her sneakers, and, after a moment’s consideration, she leans down and kisses Chloe delicately on the cheek. “I’ll be back.”

Chloe makes an _mmm_ sound and doesn’t stir. Nadine looks her over thoroughly—hair a wreck, sheets making marks on her cheek, lips slightly chapped and still kiss-swollen—feeling indulgent and greedy, then rises—or tries to, as Chloe lashes out suddenly, grabbing her by the back of the neck and dragging her down to be very thoroughly kissed. Ten seconds later, she’s asleep again, and Nadine makes it outside in one piece.

She feels slow at first, at the beginning of her run, bogged down, but after the first half-mile, her body starts to wake up. Her tired muscles protest, then warm and flex and push, and soon she’s pounding the pavement, making a loop through the only partly-familiar streets of a city only just waking up to face the day.

Nearly an hour later, she feels appropriately winded, and buzzes at Chloe’s intercom to be let back in. Luckily, Chloe’s up, the front door unlocking a second later. Upstairs, she finds the apartment door similarly unlocked, and smells coffee and, almost masked by the sharp, bitter scent of roasted beans, a floral note of tea.

“Hi,” says Chloe, sitting at her kitchen table with some random documents and a mug of coffee. She looks far more awake than before Nadine left. Her hair is still loose, falling in her face and eyes in a rich black tangle. All she’s wearing is a thin white robe. If possible, she is more beautiful than she was last night.

“Hi,” replies Nadine. She’d expected to feel awkward this morning, but instead feels light and free. She glances at the tea cup steaming by Chloe’s mug. “I think I’ll shower first.”

Chloe quirks an eyebrow at her. “Let me get you a towel.” She leads Nadine to a hallway closet crammed with sheets and washcloths and unearths a towel. When Nadine reaches out to take it, Chloe doesn’t let go right away. Rather, she pulls, so Nadine has to come closer, until they’re standing inches away from one another. The hungry look is back on her face. Nadine shivers, and feels her nipples prick to attention. She must smell terrible from her run. Her borrowed shirt has gone dark with sweat. Chloe hasn’t moved away. If anything, she looks even more interested than before. Nadine remembers the sounds Chloe made when she came in her mouth last night, and feels her body throb in response.

As if reading Nadine’s thoughts, the primal look in Chloe’s eyes turns feral. She pushes Nadine’s damp shirt up to bare her sweaty abdomen and groans aloud. Her palm gropes down her flat, heaving stomach and past the hem of her shorts and underwear, where it begins to rub slow, gentle circles at the top of her mound. Nadine’s legs quaver, already gone weak from her run. She grits her teeth and forces them still as Chloe’s clever fingers find her clit, dipping further back to swirl in her wetness before returning to the hard, throbbing bead of her. Her mouth is open and gasping when Chloe starts to kiss her. Bare minutes later, she comes, crying out, the noise muffled by Chloe’s lips and tongue. Her knees buckle, and she nearly falls, but catches herself at the last moment. Chloe _mmm_ s and licks around her slack mouth, and then detracts her hand from Nadine’s shorts and licks her wet fingers, too.

They shower together afterward. Or, Nadine attempts to shower while Chloe does everything she can to distract her from actually getting clean. Nadine has always fantasized about pushing a beautiful woman up against a cool, tiled, bathroom wall. The sound Chloe makes in the back of her throat when she does so is wonderful. The sound she makes when Nadine gets on her knees and buries her face between her quivering legs is even better. Beneath the curtain of pounding water and the squeeze of Chloe’s inner thighs, she can hear practically nothing. Her world has become warm, wet skin and heavy musk. She licks at Chloe until she is physically pulled away by a firm hand clenched in her hair.

“You’re going to kill me,” groans Chloe, looking faint. “Sure we can’t call in sick?”

Nadine kisses her, sorry to disappoint.

Chloe whips her up a quick, efficient breakfast as Nadine dresses. Five minutes before she absolutely must leave Chloe’s if she doesn’t want to be late to work—she still has to drive to her apartment to get a clean uniform, as she doesn’t keep any at work, an oversight she will have to correct—Nadine turns to Chloe and holds out her hand expectantly.

"Yes?” says Chloe, unsure. “I see, that’s your hand there. I’ve become very fond of it recently. Especially last night.”

Nadine doesn’t falter. After a moment, Chloe adopts a faintly guilty expression.

“Frazer,” Nadine prompts.

“What?”

“Keys. Phone,” she orders gruffly. Then, a bit more kindly. “Please.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Oh, fine.” Out of her back pocket emerges Nadine’s stolen phone and car keys. She hands them over, looking only somewhat contrite.

“Thank you,” says Nadine, and steps in to kiss her.

“Will I see you later?” Chloe asks quietly, after she’s pulled away. She’s back in her robe, hair wet, face flushed from the shower—and the kiss—and she’s almost too pretty for Nadine to stand.

“Depends,” says Nadine honestly. “Do you want to see me later?”

“’Course.” She narrows her eyes at Nadine suspiciously. “Did you really think last night was a one-time thing for me?”

Nadine shrugs. “Didn’t want to assume, is all.”

“I like you, china,” Chloe says, without an ounce of self-consciousness.

“I suppose you’re alright, too, Frazer,” Nadine replies.

 

—

 

She gets a text from Chloe near the end of the day. Nadine hasn’t been avoiding her, per se, she just likes to keep her work and private life separate, and if she’d caught Chloe in an empty hallway earlier, or anywhere with a bathroom nearby, she might’ve been tempted to do something very unprofessional. It’d been safer to simply make sure their paths didn’t cross and plan to meet after work, as they discussed before.

It’s close enough to after work right now, though, so when Nadine's phone buzzes, she answers it.

 _Meet me at your building_ , the text says. Nadine smiles and puts her phone back in her pocket and starts her way there. She reaches the building at exactly 5PM, the official end of her shift. She starts in the front doors, expecting to have an impatient visitor waiting in her office, and then stops, and looks up.

Chloe is sitting on the peak of the roof high above, grinning down at her, legs dangling over the edge, ankles crossed.

“Hey, china,” she calls down cheekily.

Nadine crosses her arms. Already, she can see a few of her men stopping to watch in the parking lot nearby as they finish and start their own shifts. Wonderful.

“Frazer,” she says in a flat tone. “Having fun up there?”

"Not really,” Chloe admits. “Could use some company.”

It’s not the most ridiculous suggestion, so Nadine decides to go with it. “I’ll be a second. I don’t have the key to the roof on me.”

“No,” says Chloe. “I don’t want you to take the stairs. I want you to climb up.”

“ _Climb?_ ” Nadine parrots incredulously. She takes another step back, and really looks at the building. Structurally, it’s not one of the biggest they have on campus. It’s three stories, and the bricks are coarse and staggered, making for relatively easy handholds. Hypothetically, if she were to go very slow, and very careful, she’d be able to do it. “I don’t know. I don't think I'll make it.”

Chloe scoffs. “Maybe it’s because you’ve never tried.”

Nadine thinks about it a bit longer, and then shakes her head. She’s fine with heights, and her body is strong and fit, but still… “I’ve got no reason to go around climbing buildings.”

“Even with me on the top as your incentive?”

Nadine fights a grin. “Depends. What will you give me, if I come up there?”

“A big kiss, for starters.”

She laughs, and hears Chloe echo her. For a moment they regard each other—Nadine on solid ground, arms crossed, Chloe three stories high, ponytail swaying in the breeze.

“Doesn’t look like there’s room for two up there,” Nadine says, but Chloe just grins at her wickedly.

“I can get creative.”

Nadine laughs again. It’s a good one; a hard, genuine gut laugh.

“Come on, china,” Chloe goads affectionately. “How are you gonna go on adventures with me if you don’t learn how to do something as simple as how to climb?”

Here, Nadine pauses. She looks up at Chloe again, and truly sees her, this wonderful, intelligent, driven woman who has somehow stolen her way into Nadine’s life. She memorizes the shape of Chloe’s body against the darkening blue backdrop of the sky, the way her hair waves in the breeze, the curve of her lips as she smiles down at her. She thinks of last night, the way Chloe had kissed her, the smell of her, the taste, and the warm, happy feeling that has been building in her chest almost since they’ve met.

All her life, Nadine has craved routine and order. When she was younger, it was what kept her sane and strong. So what, exactly, has she been holding back? What kind of person would she have become if there had been no strict rules, no rigid orders to chain her? Some possibilities seem darker than others; she could have, in the military, turned into a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. She could have become a monster, a war-monger, a murderer.

But there are other possibilities of who she could have become. Someone great, and brave, and adventurous. Someone not afraid of change, or the uncertain. Someone entirely different than who she is now. To be with Chloe, to give herself wholly to her, is to become something completely opposite of what Nadine has become used to. Even now, in this very moment, everything feels new and fresh and unexpected. She feels frightened. There is a palpable buzz in the air she recognizes. She knows what it means—a fight has just started inside of her. And Nadine Ross doesn’t lose.

She smiles at Chloe.

Then she starts to climb.

**Author's Note:**

> me, 3000 words into nadine-gets-cursed fic: oh boy I can't believe I'm finally writing this hooray
> 
> THIS fucking monstrosity: write me first
> 
> me: no you have to wait I really need to write this while I have the motivation it's been forever and-
> 
> *gun cocks*
> 
> me: k
> 
> (also here's a drinking game for this fic take a shot everytime chloe calls nadine china or every time orca says ma'am boom wasted)


End file.
